Twilight Derealized

by Fiddlebottoms

Rating: mature
Tags: Profanity, Violence, Pinkie Pie, Sex, Death, Twilight Sparkle, Applejack, Gore, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Granny Smith, Fetish, Comedy
Length: 13143

Lies and secrecy abound as Twilight attempts to expose the changeling who has stolen her life. Or, maybe she's the changeling attempting to steal the real Twilight's life. Or maybe ... Only one thing is certain: this won't end well.

Will a changeling, given the identity of a pony, continue in that vein? Or are we, in fact, more than the sum of our memories?
Lies and secrecy abound as Twilight attempts to expose the changeling impostor who has taken everything she knew. Or, maybe she's the changeling attempting to steal everything the real Twilight has ever known. Or maybe ...
The one thing any pony or changeling can know for certain is that this will not end well.

An act of unwarranted aggression collaboration from the horse-addled minds of Sunshine-Smiles and Fiddlebottoms.

Published 2013-04-12 04:40:03 UTC
Last updated 2013-04-15 21:18:02 UTC

I Think I Know You

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.

Sometimes Want to Be You

Twilight emerged from the woods like a primeval beast being born. Mud slathered her fur, twigs jutted from her mane, and her eyes were slightly puffy from not crying about being lost in the woods. Why was there always a marsh? You get lost in the woods, you end up in a marsh. Inconvenient marshes were yet another reason never to go outside again, or at least drain the wetlands and torch the forests.

Having triumphed over nearly half a square kilometer of inanimate objects, Twilight arrived at the library. The impostor and Spike must have been out, because she found herself walking through shelves alone. That was good, it gave her time for a bath.

Though it was her tub, the unicorn still felt strange as she rinsed herself. Can a changeling’s disguise be washed off? Twilight dismissed the thought as she looked at her face in the water. It was the same face she’d always had. No green eyes, no fangs, no chitinous plates.

Her bath complete--the other Twilight must really be taking her time, she was probably a disorganized fool--Twilight went over to her desk. A small statuette rested there. Celestia had given it to her in celebration of some minor accomplishment.

She picked it in her telekinetic grasp, noting that her headache was gradually subsiding, and turned it over, observing the familiar ...

No. It was wrong. Where there had once been a fabulous, extravagantly proud phallus dangling from the figure’s crotch, there was now nothing. The penis, proud and grand, had been the high point of the entire work. It was what held the piece together. This ... this was just trash.

She set it down, turning as she heard the door opening behind her.

“Excuse me, the library isn’t open right now, but if you’d like to explain what in Tartarus you think you’re doing.” The other Twilight’s voice barely shifted pitch as she switched from greeting to accusation.

“I was just returning to my house-”

“My house,” interrupted the impostor, her horn glowing.

“Yes, I said my house,” Twilight nodded her head. “Although, I see you’ve changed some things. Did someone break my statue when they were abducting me?”

The newly arrived Twilight snorted derisively. "Chrysalis sent you, didn’t she? Poor girl must have fallen off the wagon pretty hard this time. This is her worst plot yet, and as an Element of Harmony, I've seen plenty of plots."

"There is nothing wrong with--” protested Twilight, nearly stumbling over a dim realization. “Why are you saying that?” The unicorn lunged forward, missing as the alicorn lifted off with a sweep of her wings. Wings? Why did she have wings? Twilight’s thoughts were interrupted as she crashed into the wall and spun, facing the impostor again. “Who told you to say that?”

“Trying to defend the honor of your precious Queen? Such a proud people for a race of parasites.”

“I get it. You’re trying to get in my head. Confuse me with my own words, well it won’t work.”

“Would it be worth repeating what you just said back at you, or is it just to be understood that we share the same sentiment?”

“I said it won’t work,” shouted Twilight little louder than seemed necessary, indicating that not only would it work but it was working.

“Seriously,” the alicorn stepped forward appraising her foe with a predatory smile, “this is almost sad. She didn’t even get the wings.” As if summoned, the two sails unfurled on either side of her body, dwarfing the interloper.

“I never had wings,” the wingless mare mumbled, staggered by the size of the display.

“I’m pretty sure that changelings do have wings, but I do too now. Chrysalis needs to do better homework.”

“Or maybe she did her homework so poorly she forgot it was my babysitter who had wings?”

The larger mare decided to be the bigger horse, “This is not getting us anywhere. There is only one way to prove who is the real Twilight.”

“Of course,” Twilight replied, remembering her breathing exercises. It would do no good to freak out now.

“So you’re thinking what I’m thinking?”

“You’d be a poor imitation if we weren’t thinking the same thing.”

“Well, you are a poor imitation, but I’m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt.”

“That’s very generous of you,” the unicorn conceded to the alicorn’s virtue, “for a changeling.”

“I figure that, as a changeling, you’d be better used to taking things from ponies.”

“That’s the sort of racist comment that a changeling would make.”

“Against themselves?” She laughed dismissively and regally. “I very much doubt it, although taking offense at it is the sort of thing that a changeling would do.”

“I didn’t receive a University education so I could sit by and listen to others make insensitive remarks.”

The Princess had begun to grow visibly exasperated, as much by the circular conversation as by the mirror image of exasperation on the face across from her. “But you seem to be avoiding the topic, impostor. What is the best way to determine which of us is genuine?”

Twilight opened her mouth to speak, and froze. What if she didn’t say the same thing that the other Twilight was thinking? Well, that wouldn’t be her failing, that would mean the impostor had failed, but what if the impostor was only trying to make her think that she had failed, but this couldn’t be a test anyway, or maybe the test was whether or not she thought this was a test? Would the real Twilight ... would she, who was the real Twilight, was she supposed to think that something like this was a test or not? What did any of this mean?

“You tell me,” she nodded her head in self-affirmation. Neatly dodged there, Real Twilight. Neatly dodged. If there was something to dodge, which maybe there wasn’t.

“I asked you first ...” alicorn Twilight’s voice trailed off in confusion, “I think I asked you first, didn’t I?”

Eight hooves shuffled for a moment as their owners tried to remember the conversation.

“Alright, on the count of three, we both say it at once.”

“1 ...”

Twilight gritted her teeth, this was it. There was absolutely nothing at stake, unless there was.

“2 ...”

The moment of glory approached, possibly. It was like rock paper scissors with an infinite number of options, and also no way of judging the winner. Also, ponies can’t play rock, paper scissors. It wasn’t much like rock, paper, scissors at all.

“3 ...”

“Postmodern literary analysis!” they shouted at once.

“Well played, False Twilight. Very well, played.”

“And the same to you.”

“Spike!” Twilight called, attempting to summon her servant from the Spike-related things he was doing off stage.

“You don’t call my dragon. Only I tell my dragon what to do.”

“Well it’s good thing I’m calling for Spike, and not your dragon.”

“Have you two decided who owns me yet?” The dragon asked as he entered the room, abandoning his Spike-related things to the non-Spike forces of the Universe, of which there were many.

“No one owns you, baby. You’re my ... MY,” Twilight repeated the word with greater emphasis, “number one assistant. We need you to help us with something.”

There was no more decisive measure of an intellectual than the ability to evaluate and provide a multiplicity of meaning to incomprehensible narratives, using primarily French and the vague quotes of obscure philosophers as evidence, and so Spike set about prepping the battlefield of the minds. He did it with the same quiet detachment that he carried out all his tasks, unconcerned who was ordering him or why. Such is the path of an unreflected life, and it is beautiful in its way.

They each chose their weapons, in addition to quills and parchment, and sat across the room from each other. Infinite Jennet was the subject, each being provided one of the library’s ample untouched copies.

Twilight closed her eyes. Absolute focus. Her breathing slowed as she prepared herself to unleash the bounty that was her unicorn brain.

“Remember,” her aged Master had once told her, “the pen must be an extension of yourself.”

Or, at least, that was the sort of flashback Twilight would have had, if there existed an elite group of essay writing monks who spent their days practicing, meditating and dispensing wisdom to young pupils. She’d had to make due with talking to Smarty Pants. Oh, they better not have removed his--

The scholar’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Spike turning over an hourglass. The glass container tapped upon the desk delicately sounding exactly not like the booming of a cannon.

Quills scribbled furiously as they vomited scholarly rainbows onto the paper. The sound of words spilling across the page like machine gun fire--Twilight made a mental note to acquire a pair of typewriters to provide proper diegetic sound for future existentialist competitions--filled the air. In the corner, the grains bounced through the narrow waist of the hourglass, headless of the life and death struggle they mastered.

Twilight turned her head to the side, she couldn’t see her rival’s paper, but she could see the fury with which she was writing. No way was she, Twilight Sparkle, about to be out-analyzed by a fake. She redoubled her effort, dragging a shred of meaning kicking and screaming from the text. A Griffon-Equestrian dictionary flew inches in front of her face, promising humiliation and paper cuts if she couldn’t master it.

She bit down on her lip as the seconds flew by. A quill snapped, sounding not very much like a gunshot but still pretty loud for a quill pen. Ink flew up, splashing black and heavy beneath her eyes as she dissected her premise, cutting apart sentences and symbols with a ruthless razor bladed wit. Her magic slid up and down the shaft of the quill, driving surges of fertile brilliance into the tabula rasa before her.

Ten seconds left, what should she do? Her spine throbbed from its rigid strain and her head ached more than before. Maybe add another quote, a quick check for typos, oh she did remember to write her name at the top, right, with ‘Unicorn’?

“Done!” Spike’s voice called out. “Time’s up.”

Well it was out of her hooves now, Twilight exhaled. Now it was Spike’s turn under the stress of performance. Dropping quills dramatically, each mare levitated an impressive stack onto the desk before him, proving that they could probably rival the baby dragon himself in blowing smoke.

Spike stared at the two bundles of paper before him for several minutes while both mares looked at him expectantly. His reptile brain made an audible grinding noise as it attempted to turn over.

“Which is the right answer again?”

“Just pick one!” snapped one Twilight.

“The right one.”

“The one which most effectively deconstructs the text as both the author’s document and the reader’s individual understanding,”

“But at the same time keeping in mind the political relationship between the text and society ...”

Their words continued as Spike stared down at the two pieces of parchment. “I ...” Normally, for decisions like this, he’d rely on Twilight. But there were two Twilights. “... I ...”

What to do? What could he do with the jumble of foreign symbols leering at him? The baby dragon still didn’t know where to start. True, Twilight often told him he was pretty destructive, but he didn’t know a first thing about the science of it, and he had no idea how to analyze postmen either, and did he even remember to get the mail today and--

Finally, he found it. An out. The one on the left was exactly one line longer.

“This one!” Spike declared triumphantly, raising it with the intensity that can only be found in one trying to escape academia.

Alicorn Twilight’s face lit up. “Yes! He picked mine, that one’s mine! In your face, you unverbose changeling!”

“There’s no way that can be right!” exclaimed unicorn Twilight. “I examined it through Post-structuralist, Anarcho-Capitalist, and Luna-era radical feminist lenses, I even analyzed it from the perspective of an adolescent otherkin colt identifying as fine china! Don’t I at least get points for creativity?”

“Oh please, the real Twilight would know better than to waste her time on such meaningless drivel. She’s a mare of hard science and solid facts.”

“The real Twilight would know that the point of such exercises isn’t to learn about the thing itself, but rather to learn how to learn.”

“Girls, girls,” Spike raised his claws in a placating gesture, “you’re both pretty, purple and smart. Can we please-”

“No, Spike!” the two Twilight’s turned and snapped as one.

“How did he even learn that sort of chauvinist attitude?” the unicorn turned on the alicorn, “what sort of books have you been letting him read?”

“Knowledge is designed to be shared, not hoarded. You’d know that if you weren’t a changeling and a crypto-fascist.”

“Except I’m not the chan--You know, this is going nowhere. Clearly we won’t be able to settle this between us, and Spike’s too young to understand deconstructionism anyway. What we need is to bring in the rest of our friends.”

“Hmm,” Alicorn Twilight considered, “That’s actually a pretty good idea... for a changeling.”

Unicorn Twilight dropped her unicorn face into her unicorn hooves as she sighed in unicorn disgust.

I Know Its Strange

Neither trusting the other to be alone with the books, they’d instead sent Spike out to fetch their friends like so many dog treats. It was good to keep him on his toes, anyway. They passed the time amiably noting how very much like a changeling the other was.

Just as the unicorn was about to opine on the very changeling-esque way the alicorn dropped her diphthongs, they were interrupted by the arrival of their friends. Well, the friends of one of them.

Simultaneously, the Twilights launched into their explanations, filling the air with a disordered cacophony.

“--Woke up in the woods--”

“--Because Spike forgot to set the alarm--”

“--Briefed on--”

“--My shopping list--”

“--Then I managed to open the door and enter the library--”

“--And as I came in, this one--”

“--Broke my statue--”

Their choreographed duet complete, the two ponies collapsed in equally exhausted heads, letting silence return to the library.

“Wait, when’s the part where one of you explains why you’re Twilight... Or why any of this is happening?” Rainbow Dash asked with the air of one convinced they understood the world.

“I just told you, it’s a plot by Queen Chrysalis! She’s trying to convince you all I’m not the real Twilight by replacing me with a fake Twilight, then telling me I’m the real not-real Twilight and sending me here to prove that I am the not-real real Twilight intending for the real not-real Twilight to defeat me and prove she’s the real real Twilight to you. She even sent an agent to help me replace my the real not-real Twilight who replaced me, knowing that you ... wouldn’t believe ... a damn word ... I just said ...” The possibly real not-real Twilight’s rattled speech slowed to a halt at the incredulous looks she was receiving.

“That's a load of changeling bull and an obvious changeling trick,” Applejack dismissed with a hoof.

“You think any part of this is obvious?” Spike grumbled from the wall where he had been attempting to etch a graph. The paper was covered in arrows, circles and a crudely sexual drawing.

Rarity spoke up, “Erm, it does seem rather far-fetched. Unless Chrysalis is chasing the dragon again ...”

“I would like to chase a dragon,” interrupted Fluttershy. “If he was a cute, little one like Spike.”

“That is not a path you want to go down.”

“Hey, keep focus! The sooner you girls prove the evident, the sooner I can go back to reading Malone Dies,” said alicorn Twilight.

That piqued the unicorn’s interest. “Ooh, are you at the part yet where something happens?” she inquired.

“Hmm ... uh ... ” She scrunched her face, mentally sorting through pages of rambling, “I don’t think so?”

“Now you’re the ones getting sidetracked,” Rarity harumphed, brushing a hoof under the edge of a powdered, white curl, “the situation is very strange, but it can’t hurt to confirm for certain which Twilight is the genuine.”

“I have an idea,” Pinkie Pie who had been doing an admirable job of not stealing the center of attention leapt onto Rarity’s back.

The fashionista shifted in agitation, snapping instinctively as her mane slipped down an inch on her face.

From her new vantage point, the earth mare stuck one hoof out and stated, “eeny, meeny, miny, moe, that one! No, that one! Actually I think I had it right. No... Wait, which one of you got your mane cut most recently?”

“Not helping.”

“Well, did the two of you make any headway at all?”

“Not so much,” admitted a Twilight.

“We already tried postmodern literary analysis,” supplied the other.

For the third time in her life, Rainbow Dash made a helpful contribution. “Well duh, there’s your problem! Twilight’s known for being an egghead so of course the changeling would be prepared for a bunch of egghead stuff. Nah, what you need is something not so obvious--and much less lame. Something awesome like a race!” She finished by pumping her hoof in the air, urging some invisible crowd into cheers.

“And just where would we do that?” replied Rarity, ever ready to poke holes in things. “We certainly can’t do it here, and public street races are no longer allowed after that stunt you and Spike pulled.”

“Why don’t y’all hold it over at Sweet Apple Acres? The real Twilight Sparkle’s welcome there any time... The changeling phony’s welcome to meet Kicks McGee.” Applejack kicked her back left leg as she spoke, leading to a full body spasm.

Spike had accepted that his pornographic doodle would never resemble the original subject, and decided he would defend its horribleness as a deliberate offense. Now he turned to one of what was possibly his mistress, “Are you sure this is the best idea? I mean, it did come from Rainbow Dash...”

Twilight allowed the dragon a pat on the head. “Thanks for the concern, Spike, but I’ll be fine. I read books.”

“Uh, actually,” he gave an awkward chuckle, “I was talking to the other Twilight. Y’know, the one with wings.”

So, no other pony questioning the validity of a race to reveal their dear friend, it was decided to hold the competition at Sweet Apple Acres straight after dinner. Nothing like a full stomach to boost running performance.

The two Twilight Sparkles stood side by side like bugs under their friends’ microscopes. The rest of the Apple family had arrived as well in order to insure that their property was kept safe.

Put it out of your mind. The unicorn pawed the starting line as she gazed across a formidable racecourse filled with hurdles, pits, and other obstacles Rainbow Dash had insisted on. At one point, she even thought she’d heard mention of piranhas but that couldn’t be right. Could it? Take a deep breath. Twilight felt the Mexicolt takeout she’d had settling in her gut like a stone, a stone of confidence. And friendship.

Maybe a little pre-match smack talk would ease her nerves. “Are you ready, changeling fraud?” she inquired, eyeing her opponent.

“If I was the charlatan you’re referring to, I’d reply ‘Readier than you’ll ever be.’”

“But since you think you’re me, you’re not ready. I understand.”

The other Twilight’s face blanched. For a moment, they observed their mirror images, terrified and humiliated. “That isn’t what I--”

Spike let out a fiery belch, signifying for both Twilights to jump in confusion and then sheepishly begin trotting forward. Gradually, they sped up, breaking into a run and plowing directly into the first hurdles.

Twilight kicked furiously with her rear hooves, listening to the hurdle creak under her. To her left, the alicorn flapped her wings. Damn it. She should have insisted those be bound. While the posts creaked under her weight, the mare tried to remember a previous lesson about not going too far within the bounds of friendly competition, but this was less friendly competition and more a battle to death, so maybe good sportsmanship didn’t apply?

While she was meditating and kicking like a foal drowning during her first trip to the pool, the other Twilight had managed to battle past her first hurdle. Flapping her wings in a frenzy, she’d pressed her body over the barrier.

With a sudden creaking crash, Twilight’s face met the ground. Success! Success tasted like dirt. Cursing and stumbling, she regained their feet and continued on toward the second set of hurdles. If she couldn’t jump over them, maybe she could slide under them? The impostor had apparently had the same idea, and soon they were struggling against each other, side-by-side.

About half an hour slightly less than a kilometer later, Twilight hauled herself across the finish line, dragging her rear hooves and the last hurdle behind her. For the past several minutes, she’d seen mostly dirt, which is more than her friends had witnessed as they had averted their eyes.

Still, she made it. First! She turned back to where the impostor was struggling against a hurdle. Her wings stuck through the posts, jutting out in strange directions. Every attempt to right herself only resulted in further distress.

Twilight coughed out a mouthful of ground paste. The foul mixture of dirt and phlegm struck the ground alerting her friends that they could safely remove their faces from their hooves. It had been a humiliating and painful ideal, but she’d finally made it. Everything was coming up Twilight. Her smile could have humiliated Celestia’s finest morning as she turned to the smiles of her friends.

“I knew it was you!” Rainbow Dash proclaimed as she ripped the hurdle away from the impostor’s wings. The others gathered around the changeling, the other one, the winged one.

“But, I won,” Twilight protested. How could this be happening? She’d won, hadn’t she? She’d done everything right. Her eyes, already stinging with sweat began to brim with tears. She’d even jumped the piranha pit when her foe had only had to glide. Her ears dropped like the flags of a country fallen to invasion.

“Yeah, and the real Twilight would never come in first in a race,” Dash snorted, rolling her eyes dismissively.

Everyone cooed happily as they swarmed the sweating flesh of the impostor. Everyone, except the one being praised for her supreme failure.

“What the hell, guys? Is this really what you think of me?” The unwitting victor stood up, shaking herself free.

“Come on, don’t be like-”

“No, I refuse to be your Twilight, or anyone’s Twilight, if all that means is I’m some slacker who can’t even win a hoof race,” she turned toward the tear, dirt and sweat streaked face of her opponent. “This isn’t over, yet.” The alicorn stormed away, her hooves striking the ground in what unicorn Twilight had to admit was certainly a very weak stomping. After a few moments, perhaps remembering that she had wings, she flew into the sky.

“Well, that’s done it,” Rainbow Dash grumbled and took off after the fleeing alicorn. Mutely, Fluttershy glanced around and decided to follow her lead, leaving the groundlings behind to sort out among themselves.

“There ain’t much more ta do today,” Applejack turned to walk back to her own home, leaving the wreckage of pone and equipment for another day.

They were going to leave her here. Twilight stared in panic, for once her disorder turning toward something else. They were going to leave her here, like a crudely constructed impression of a hurdle.

“Wait!” Her voice, still the voice of Twilight, cut the night. The others turned back to look at her, perhaps perplexed for the moment, or maybe they were just faking interest in her so as not to appear too uncaring for the modern age.

“Where do I go?” The unicorn was lost. Her library? Gone. Her bed with the stars and planets on the comforter? Soon to be wrapped around another. Her Number One Assistant? He’d be failing to set another pony’s alarm tonight.

“That’s a point,” Applejack conceded something to the thing she loathed, “We cain’t have ye wandering around town and murderin our Twilight in her sleep.”

“Please, that’s a stupid idea,” Rarity fluffed her mane, suddenly returned to its naturally stylish curls, “and I think someone, like myself, would notice if Twilight were suddenly without wings.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised,” Pinkie interjected with a smile. Everyone paused a moment to stare.

“She can stay the night with us,” offered Granny Smith, rearing up from the dark abyss in which the aged dwell.

“Ya can’t let that thing into our house!” Applejack, performed the grand ritual of the bourgeois demanding that the things which must be held be held far away. The farm pony was a social climber in her own way.

“It’s my name on the deed, and Ah reckon I’m the one who’s spent the past 80 years paying the tax man, so I kin do whatever I want with mah hospitalitae.”

Applejack opened her mouth for further protest, but kept silent at the look she received from Big Macintosh. If he were to write a fortune cookie it would probably read, ‘Those who do not respect their elders are said to have dim futures.’

“Well then, it sounds like that matter is settled,” interjected Rarity, now happily sporting a bob cut, “I was starting to fear I’d have to clear some space in the shed.”

And so Twilight found herself escorted through the familiar halls of the Apple home by a grumpy Applejack and bothersome Applebloom. Ponies she’d known for years treating her as an intruder.

“What’s it like being a changeling? Do yer wings really work with all them holes?” the filly asked as they entered a hallway.

“I already told you, I’m not the changeling. That other pony parading about as me in my own home is.”

“Okay,” Applebloom’s bow bobbed as she took careful note of this fact and discarded it, “but how about those weird bug eyes? Do they got like night vision or something?”

“I don’t have bug eyes but actually, yes, they do have night vision. You’d be able to read all about it if you ever visited the library.”

“Don’t listen to that changeling propaganda,” instructed Applejack. “It’s all part of her changeling conspiracy to sap and impurify all our precious bodily fluids.”

“Come on,” Twilight groaned, “that one doesn’t even make sense. If I was a changeling I’d need your love, not bodily fluids.”

“Ya could take both,” replied Applejack, demonstrating to her little sister a superior technique for disregarding the evidence.

The farm pony lead a train of one unicorn, one earth pony filly and an invisible audience through the house. Grabbing some small things as she passed and apparently, desperately ignoring the conversation between her sister and the interloper.

“Ya ain’t the real Twilight, so ya don’t get a real room. You can sleep in the attic,” Applejack allowed, opening the closet to their left. “Here’s a blanket and a coat. Make ‘em useful.”

“Applejack, dearie,” Granny Smith called from downstairs, “I do hope you're being kind to our guest!”

“She’s giving her the coat treatment!” shouted Applebloom.

“Oh, you hush your mouth,” Applejack scolded, holding said object expectantly at the unicorn.

Twilight stared at the shabby gray coat and blanket. She considered protesting this, but Applejack seemed much more aggressive than usual. Kind of a dickhead. So she drew on the lessons long hammered into her skull and refrained from pressing the issue, merely accepting the items with a polite thanks. It all would blow over eventually and they’d have a good laugh about it, once she proved herself the genuine pony.

As Everything I've Known Flies Out the Window

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.

So Nevermind

After a few hours of fitful sleep, Twilight dragged herself from the dust and obscurity of Applejack’s attic floor. All things considered, she felt pretty good. For a mare that has been kicked out of her home by an intruder, is being held in suspicion by her former friends, has had even her dragon taken from her, and is the target of a conspiracy designed to drive her out of her mind, she was in a good mood.

The lavender unicorn’s joints popped and unlocked as she stretched her forehooves across the grime, her rear legs straining and jerking out the cramps that had frozen into her legs. When the forests were burned, that would make things warmer.

With a magical push, she threw open the attic window, letting sunlight shine into the room and give warm kisses to the floorboards. A rare smile graced her face. A bright new day, perfect for espionage. Though, a dark night would probably be better. Even a light drizzle ...

A stomach rumble cut her off. First, she would have to survive breakfast with the Apples. She contemplated just sneaking out, but that wouldn’t help matters. Not if Twilight wanted to convince them she was herself. Or maybe they were all changelings, and it didn’t matter? Or maybe some of them were ...

Another rumble reminded her to get moving.

It sounded like they had already started without her from the smell of things. Sure enough, the farm ponies were all happily chattering and eating around a large oaken table just like a functional family. At least, they were until Twilight entered and silence dropped into the room, wings outspread and shadowy eyes seeking any trace of noise.

The farm ponies, even Granny Smith, stared cautiously at her as if she were an alien species. It was like every High School party she’d gone to. All one of them. Applejack pulled her hay bacon closer and Applebloom dropped hers, while syrup dribbled down Big Macintosh’s chin. Twilight took a step into the kitchen. Nothing happened, so she took another. No one burst into laughter and no buckets of blood descended from the ceiling, so it wasn’t like prom at all.

Grabbing the vacant seat at the end of the table, she managed to greet, “Um, good morning everypony.”

Apparently she’d passed. Now, with cheery air, Granny Smith said, “Morning, dearie! I hope ya slept well?”

You know just how I slept with your midnight intrusions, she thought, but polite conversation would be best. “Yeah, I slept, it was nice enough. Away from home and all, y’know.” And pillows, blankets or any soft surfaces.

“Eeyup.” The syrup hanging from Big Macintosh’s chin waved back and forth, obscene and dangling. Twilight quite liked the slow, hypnotic swing of the thick string.

She took the moment to gaze at the spread of food before her. Pancakes studded with chunks of sliced apples, glistening apple slices, apple-berry-nut muffins, eggs, hay bacon, apple toast with apple jam, and a bowl of Applejacks completed this balanced breakfast. Twilight helped herself to a fitting portion for an indulged mare that spent many days in bed reading, meaning three buttered pancakes and four eggs drowned in syrup.

Twilight smiled warmly as she held her fork in a traditional Italian grip. After a moment to register the space between her and Applejack, she began the conversation with a cautious line. “So this is quite the feast. I hope you didn’t go to all this trouble just for me.”

“What’re you talking about? This is a normal breakfast on the farm,” chimed Apple Bloom.

“You’d know that if you were the real Twilight,” Applejack’s response was a rapid derobement that left the proffered conversation spinning in place.

Twilight cringed, but attempted another riposte at friendliness. “Well I am the real me, and I’m pretty sure I haven’t seen this much food since the last Apple family reunion. Are you preparing for one?” She dropped the last question carefully, revealing herself as the real self and testing the Applejack at the same time. A master stroke.

“Twilight would know I ain’t allowed at the family reunions anymore,” said the orange mare, not falling for the line and retreating into a more guarded posture.

The scholar’s advance was not to be dissuaded, and she pressed. “Because of the mess you made of the last one?”

Applejack averted her eyes. “Nah, I, uh, I accidentally called one of my nieces a dickhead...” she admitted, “but don’t you go getting any funny ideas, I know how you get around them things!”

“I do not have a penis obsession!” Now Twilight was on her guard, she hadn’t expected such a feint from Applejack and the right of way had shifted.

“No one said ya did,” Granny Smith added as she tried to placate the inflamed discussion.

“But ya do,” glared Applejack.

“No, I--Hold on, that means you think I might be the real Twilight!” The amateur maître-sabreur nearly squealed with pleasure. Touche, the point was hers.

“It don’t mean nothing but that you’re obsessed with penis!” Applejack was just jealous she’d been beaten to the first point.

“Um, I don’t think this conversation should be happening at the breakfast table, with a little filly present,” said Applebloom in avertissement.

“Ah shoot, y’all haven’t had this talk with her yet?” exclaimed Granny Smith, frowning at Big Macintosh.

The only stallion present replied with a quiet, “Eenope,” as if to say, why are you staring disapprovingly at me instead of her sister?

The situation did not look as if it would get better from there and Twilight had things to do.

“Not a problem because, would you look at that, I’m already done with breakfast!” she said, dumping her eggs under the table and praying Winona would take care of it. “It was great, thanks. Anyway, I’m gonna have to get going now, big day ahead, lots of authentic Twilight stuff to do.” The unicorn pushed away from the table, quickly making for the front entrance.

“Ya ain’t the real Twilight!” she heard Applejacks salut over her shoulder as the door shut.

They might not think so now, but she’d prove it yet. Breakfast had been a bust so she’d really have to turn something up. It was time to start on Pinkie’s lead and dig up some dirt on Ponyville’s poshest and most captivating pony, for one lacking a penis. She was talking about Rarity.

“Ouch,” Twilight grunted as yet another thorn poked through her stealth suit.

Hiding in the bushes outside Carousel Boutique was not comfortable, but it was one of the many sacrifices stealth called for. Among her many talents, Twilight considered herself an aspiring amateur in the arts of espionage. She’d managed to fit the enormous Beginner’s Guide to Not Being Seen in the bushes, as well as several reference guides and a binder for taking organized notes. They mostly fit, with only a single corner of her desk jutting out into the sidewalk.

According to what she knew of the prim mare’s schedule, Rarity would be leaving for the spa visit in just over an hour, at which point Twilight would break into her friend’s home and go through her stuff to find proof of the conspiracy against her. Civil liberties should never stand in the way of friendship!

Pushing a branch from her face, Twilight was just getting to the chapter on subtlety when a voice interrupted her.

“Excuse me, Miss, but do you have any trash you’d like to discard?”

Twilight glanced up to see an elderly face peering down at her. After taking a moment to consider her options, including the ambient air temperature and the direction of the wind, she shrieked and leapt out of the bush. Adjusting her stealth unitard, Twilight kept a considerable distance between herself and the ravages of age.

The senior garbage pony just kinda stared at her glass-eyed, head weeble-wobbling to some unknown frequency.

“You can’t see me, go away!” Twilight hissed, then realized the absurdity of her statement. He couldn’t hear her either, so how could she communicate with him?

“I’m sorry,” the stallion finally warbled, “but I can’t leave until I collect the trash and I can’t lift the bin.” He pointed to Rarity’s overflowing trash container, filled to the brim with worn clothes and half-eaten food that could probably still feed a few orphans. “I need special assistance.”

Dropping her stealth, Twilight replied, “Look, I’m sorry but I am very busy practicing my Celestia-forbidden subterfuge skills.” She attempted to return to minding her bush, but was blocked by the grip of senility.

“Please, miss!” he pleaded, spraying spittle into her face, “I hurt my back recently and these old bones ain’t what they used to be, besides.”

“...If you can’t lift the trash cans, why are you a garbage pony?”

“Well I’ve got to feed my family and this is what my butt told me I did best. Ain’t my place to argue with that.” His voice was calm, as if speaking to a particularly stupid dog. “So can you spare some help?”

Twilight wanted to ask him why he wasn’t being provided for by one of Equestria’s ample public aid services, but it was not a debate the unicorn had time for. “Yeah,” she sighed. “I can help but it’s gotta be quick. I’m trying to spy here.”

She went over to the trashcan, senior citizen trailing far too close within her comfort zone, and proceeded to lift it over to his compost cart. Her head, which had been calm before, barked back bitterly at the task demanded of it. The can crashed loudly as it landed in the cart. Well, close enough the old pony didn’t seem too concerned.

“Say, Miss,” his abrasive voice rattled in her ear as she attempted to pick it back up. “I can’t help but ask, what’re you wearing? I might like to get one for the wife.”

Twilight dropped the bin and answered, “Oh, this is just my stealth unitard. I like it. It's a good blend, reliable..." She gave it a small squeeze. "Compassionate."

They chatted on about the merits of a wool verse polyester blend for a while before the elderly trash stallion had to return to his rounds. Twilight as well returned to her vigil in the bushes, keeping alert eyes on the area and carefully monitoring any activity. Not much was learned except that Mrs. Sassaflash down the road was getting a divorce.

Finally, after a very long time that Twilight’s watch told her was only ten minutes, Rarity exited the Boutique humming a merry tune and wearing a Ronettes-style beehive. This was an important find. Shaking off woes and dandruff, Twilight Sparkle pulled out her notebook and wrote down ‘Rarity is exactly on schedule.’

The conspiratorially curious, yet inconspicuous, unicorn waited until Rarity had pranced out of sight before departing from the bushes. Standing to the side of the Boutique, she focused on the image of Rarity’s living room, but her efforts only brought her a sudden backlash as her powers failed her.

They must be interfering with her magic. Yet another ruse, but they’d underestimated her. She’d come prepared. Searching her stealth fanny pack, Twilight pulled out her Junior Eye-Spy Grappling Hook™, made of the finest plastic $12.99 could buy. The label had read “Warning! Not to be used in any way that might test product’s integrity,” but Twilight disregarded that. She would be fine, she read books.

Swinging it around overhead, Twilight let loose and watched the grapple sail through air to the building’s top. And completely miss to land with a dull thud on the grass beside her. This would take practice as well as having read books.

It only took nine tries before the hook finally latched onto roof. Checking that it was securely fastened, Twilight began to pull herself up because rope climbing is possible with hooves.

After completing her climb, with plenty of time to curse her extra-healthy weight, Twilight reached the roof. As her gym teacher had always said, that was what counted. No matter it took twice the time of her peers. Twilight awarded herself a gold star from the one’s she kept in her stealth pouch, just in case.

As hard as coming up had been, coming down should be easier. Twilight approached the chimney hesitantly. The sweat she’d worked up during her climb should serve to lubricate her passage, but it was still a foreboding passage.

“Just think of it like an enormous penis,” she whispered to herself. Strong and firm, waiting to envelop her entire body in its urethra. Yes. That was a comforting image. Being devoured by the urethra of an enormous, rigid erection. Very comforting.

It was not. After a few moments of squeezing through the tightly packed space, the unicorn realized just how difficult a job certain, holiday themed individuals have. She completed her manual labor in a reckless push. She tumbled out in a rough sprawl of limbs and the Bit Tree purchases that constituted her equipment. It was precisely the moment one doesn’t want interrupted, and it was precisely the moment that Twilight found herself confronted with a small white filly.

“Are you Santa Claus? Why are you wearing a zentai? Are these presents?” The pink maned filly picked up an exploding pen in her hooves. This was perfectly safe, as the pen didn’t have explosives but instead leaked ink furiously due to a damaged press bar.

“It isn’t a zentai,” Twilight explained with the air of one who reads books, “a zentai covers the face, this is obviously a unitard.”

“Okay, why are you wearing a unitard, Santa Claus?”

“Because I am SPYING!” she screamed the last word, causing a few potted plants to subtly shuffle away.

“Are you trying to see if I’ve been naughty,” Sweetie Belle leaned in close and whispered in Twilight’s ear, “because I haven’t been. But I know where Rarity’s been naughty.”

This was a trap. Of some kind. This was definitely a regrettable thing to pursue, at least. And yet, what other choice is there for a unicorn wearing a unitard while she snuck into the home of the changeling that had stolen the life of her friend in order to prove that there was a conspiracy against her and ...

In a rare moment of outrospection, Twilight saw herself from the outside. Saw the room as if looking at a portrait. It would be titled, “Asylum Escapee #16,” and she’d have hairs growing around her muzzle as she loomed over this little filly. The colors would be strange and stretched, as out of tone as she was out of place, except for Sweetie Belle who’d be all polite whites and innocence. It’d be a controversial piece, laden with the guilty symbolism of a pony with things on her mind.

“I’m,” Twilight had to say something, the world was venturing out of her control, but say what, “sorry?”

“I know what you’re looking for,” Sweetie Belle repeated with a cunning grin uniquely shared among children and the very stupid. Without waiting for a response, the filly darted ahead as the older mare followed her.

They found themselves in Rarity’s room. Against one wall was a long table adorned with wigs, which should have attracted Twilight’s attention if it weren’t for the filly leading her toward a desk.

“Shouldn’t you be with your parents?”

“What parents?” Sweetie Belle asked, still bearing that unbreakable layer of innocence. “I live with Rarity, she’s my sister, and this is where she’s naughty,” the filly proclaimed as she pulled a drawer from the desk.

Several papers fell out, papers that Twilight quickly realized she had an unfortunate familiarity with. Months ago, in a moment of folly, Twilight had tried to form a literary circle with her friends. The results had been interesting to say the least, and if these were anything like Rarity’s usual contributions ...

But what better place to hide her secret plans than in her writings? The unicorn certainly spent a lot of time on them, and nopony would question it, if there was a pony to question anything. She picked up one of the pieces of paper and started to read ...

Rarity knelt down in front of Fluttershy, prying apart the lips of Fluttershy’s marehood with Rarity’s hooves. The walls of Fluttershy’s flesh creaked like an old door hinge as a puff of dust filled Rarity’s eyes. The smell that assaulted Rarity’s nostrils was like fish and something else that smells.
Rarity thrust her hoof down Rarity’s throat and vomited into Fluttershy’s cavernous orifice, filling it to the brim with digestive fluids.
“Oh, Rarity, keep vomiting into Flutter’s butter vagina,” moaned Fluttershy as Rarity continued to vomit into Fluttershy’s vagina.
“This is almost as much fun as arbitrarily wedging quotations into daily conversation,” screamed Rarity as she continued vomiting into Fluttershy’s vomit-stained shame orifice. Rarity’s vomit flowed like vomit and also more vomit and blood.
Rarity’s rape vomit dripped down to Rarity’s clitoris and Rarity moaned angrily as Rarity’s asshole was penetrated by Big Macintosh’s tennis racket shaped penis. Big Macintosh pounded away at Rarity’s anus, penetrating Rarity’s cervix and causing Rarity to start lactating from Rarity’s Rarity nipples ...

“Wait a second, something isn’t right about this homemade pornography,” Twilight paused, lowering the document.

“Her understanding of female anatomy is atrocious and who enjoys reading their name that much,” agreed the unicorn filly. Sweetie Belle had become bored with the story part way through and was rolling the pen back and forth on the floor, watching the ink ruin the floor.

“You’re an underage minor. You’re not of a legal age to be reading this sort of thing, let alone be critiquing it.”

“It’s okay I have an adult.”

The unicorn would have stopped to debate whether that made it better or worse, but this was not the time. She needed to go see Fluttershy, and she needed to do so at once.

Author's Note

It is a given fact that any weeble, though he may wobble, may not fall down.

It's (Not) Real

If this Fluttershy was anything like normal, she'd be taking her daily shower right about now, scrubbing off the refuse that she lived in as a talking pony surrounded by less-talking animals. From previous occasions, Twilight knew exactly which window she could use for the best unobstructed view when Fluttershy stepped out of the shower. She may have had to admit she was no expert on spying, but peeping did come naturally to the self-isolating unicorn.

Latching onto the frame, she gazed through the second story window with no small amount of nostalgia. Twilight could still remember the first day she had seen her friend’s noble organ, her sheath opening up and spilling out proud, pink flesh like a great banner unfurling. As Twilight had explained to numerous court-appointed psychiatrists, her obsession wasn’t sexual. Fluttershy was notoriously phobic of contact, anyway, instead the lavender mare’s appreciation was purely aesthetic. Indeed, Twilight had often considered herself the Georgia O’Keefe of the penis, and Fluttershy’s magnificent organ was a work of art, a thing of beauty, a piece to be honored and adored.

Or it should have been. Twilight nearly vomited with rage as she saw the mare turn, presenting her filthy, just-washed vagina. Nausea made her vision swim and the unicorn felt a pounding growing behind her horn..

Without even pausing to consider her actions or the existence of doors, Twilight threw herself through the window. In a hail of broken glass, the enraged equine struck the tile floor. Fluttershy squeaked pathetically as she grabbed a towel to conceal her shame.

The unicorn was having none of that. Righting herself, Twilight advanced on the pegasus and pointed a hoof in righteous fury. In the tone normally reserved for angry gods, she commanded, “Explain yourself!”

Fluttershy couldn’t help but feel she should be the one asking that question, but she was never one to argue with her friends. ”Um, explain?”

“Why don’t you have a penis?!”

Outside the window, a bird, startled by the commotion leapt into the air and flew away. A passing squirrel stopped to watch, its acorn held between its paws. Even the trees took notice of the noise and subsequent silence as the two mares stared each other down.

Inside the bathroom, a droplet of water hung for a moment, undecided if this was its moment to descend into the puddle at the bottom of the shower or not. Several towels, colored yellow and decorated with pink flowers swayed in anticipation.

Finally, Fluttershy remembered how to speak. “That is not a question that anyone should ask anyone.” It was a moment she would remember to tell her psychiatrist later, about how she had asserted herself.

Twilight released her anger and confusion in a cathartic blow to Fluttershy’s vagina. While the pegasus crumpled in surprise, the unicorn leapt back through the window and retreated into the phallic symbolism of the forest.

Silently insalubrious, Twilight rested her haunch into the loam of the forest. Back into the woods again, like some kind of fucking metaphor forgotten. What else did she have? This couldn’t be her Ponyville, this couldn’t be anything, and the knowledge drove through her brain like a splinter.

Fluttershy’s failure to have a penis was the last straw for Twilight. She couldn’t go on like normal without that, couldn’t pretend everything--or anything--was okay any longer. She rested and ruminated on her next move, watching the movements of the birds and squirrels scurrying through the trees. The sun slid beneath the horizon while she waited, fuming in her displacement.

Twilight was coming. Her time, the hour granted to her by name as the sun disappeared. Stuck on earth, there’s no cure for that. But she was Twilight Sparkle and she read books, that was all there was to it, and it was time to put an end to these ridiculous games. One hoof in front of the other she slipped back into the town, watching the lights die out as the ponies that were possibly her friends went to sleep.

She focused her magic again, fully expecting the teleportation to fail as it had failed her so far, but the spell finally clicked. She opened her eyes in the library. Her library, and there was the impostor slumped over a desk. Her desk. And spreading over the papers (her papers) was a pool of drool. The drool was not hers, it belonged to the impostor.

The alicorn Twilight barely made a sound as the statuette crashed into the side of her head.

“The penis really did bring the work together,” Twilight muttered.

By the time alicorn Twilight had stopped slurring her speech and recovered, she was bound in a makeshift hobble. Her wings were also held to her sides, and the unicorn was standing before her, wearing a triumphant grin.

“I bet you thought I’d just give up, right?” Twilight asked.

The alicorn didn’t respond, only illuminated her horn as she began to cast a spell. Her head snapped to the side under the impact of an eldritch force.

“No,” Twilight said, striking her duplicate across the face a second time. “No magic. No more games. Tell me what you did to Fluttershy.”

“I never did anything to her. You assaulted her in the-” Twilight’s voice was cut off as she was slammed again, this time directly into the snout. She snorted as blood trickled down the back of her throat.

“Where is Fluttershy’s penis? Where are my friends?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Twilight growled, gripping her hostage’s head between her hooves for a moment before smacking her across the face.

“I do know that you hit like a filly.”

For a change of pace, Twilight struck her rival in the stomach.

“Why don’t you just untie me and leave because this-” The blow rocked the alicorn’s entire body, spinning her head to the left. Her remained turned at a painful angle for a moment before she spat out a mouthful of blood and continued, “is just embarrassing. I know you didn’t have a brother like Shining-”

“Keep your claws off my brother.” Twilight abandoned her magic and spun, bucking her double in the face and generating a satisfying crunch.

The alicorn spat a fleck of white out with a mouthful of blood this time. “You chipped one of my teeth,” she complained, “real ponies only get two sets of those, you know. We can’t just grow them back.”

Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of the door opening.

“What have I told you about holding frackuses without telling ...” Pinkie Pie slowed as she took in the scene before her. “Oh, shit,” she finished.

The unicorn and the alicorn stared guiltily, waiting for the penalty of being caught to fall upon them. Instead, the pink pony made a beeline for the bathroom, completely abandoning her bubbly excitement. She shifted through the medicine cabinet for a moment before pulling out a brown bottle and removing the cap. She held a hoof over her nose and poured the vile liquid down her throat.

“What are you doing?” Twilight asked, as if creating some new accusation could bury the older one.

Pinkie Pie pulled the bottle away from her mouth, hacking viciously. “I didn’t think to read the label first, and now my vision’s going blurry ... but ... I think it is Old Spice? Must be Spike’s.”

“That’s crazy,” said the unicorn who had just invaded the home of another pony in the middle of the night, tied her up and beaten her while demanding an explanation for the conspiracy against her and the absence of one of her female friend’s penis.

“I know, he’s a reptile. Why would he need aftershave?” The bottle tilted back again, bearing with it the beauty of isopropyl alcohol and total oblivion.

“This isn’t the time to get drunk.”

“What this isn’t the time for is being sober,” corrected Pinkie kicking the garbage can out of the bathroom, “you might want some, too.”

Twilight turned down the offered bottle, because winners don’t do antiseptic agents recreationally.

“Your problem, but I’d rather not be sober for this next part.”

“What next part?” demanded the hostage, realizing that salvation might not be on the way.

Pinkie approached the alicorn with a lurching, uncertain step, her legs dancing in rebellion. “We’re gonna have to kill you, sorry.”

Both Twilights started in horror as the pink mare moved the can in position to the right of the bound hostage, “what do you mean kill-”

“Like this,” the thing pretending to be a pink mare took a final slug off the bottle and shattered it. With a practiced motion she jabbed the jagged edges into the alicorn’s neck and twisted the bottle around. Gout’s of blood pulsed out, first filling the neck of the bottle and then splashing into the can in spurts.

“But you said ... I just had ... escape ...” Twilight was in shock. She read books, but they didn’t mention this sort of thing.

Pinkie was just admiring her handiwork, the can was perfectly positioned and sized to collect the spilling blood, as if she had foreseen the patterns spilling out through a sixth sense. “Escape? Do you have any idea how much research and time it takes to replicate one pony? You think we have the resources to replicate an entire town and the surrounding geography? All anyling knows is that two weeks ago this one with the wings was walking around, and then we found you stumbling through the woods babbling like you’d just had a concussion. We figured it was one of Celestia’s awful plots-”

“How dare you speak of the Princess’s plot-”

“Please, this is enough already,” interrupted the thing pretending to be a pink mare. “We weren’t sure what to make of it, so we figured we might as well have a go at screwing it up. This is the real Ponyville, with a couple replacements.”

“But what about-”

“I don’t know. Noling knows. Nopony either, I’ll bet. It’s all just ...” she waved her pink hoof through the air, “but gone and, alas, to a continent and place unknown thanks to your Michael Morabsen impression.”

“Michael Morabsen? That’s what you’re going with?”

“I’m under a lot stress here, ok?” Pinkie yanked the bottle out as the flow slowed and dropped the shattered glass into the bin. “Now, we’re going to need a rug, and some papier-mâché.”

The thought of losing a rug on top of all the other events of the past two days was finally too much for Twilight to bear. “Pinkie, what are we going to do? About ... I really liked that rug. I think I need to lie down.”

“You and us both,” Pinkie agreed, “Also, did you notice how the floor is crawling? I don’t think it is supposed to do that. Someone must have spiked the aftershave.”

An hour later, Twilight and Pinkie were dragging the corpse between them. A pair of papier-mâché wings clung to Twilight’s back, giving her the distinct profile of a unicorn who has attached a pair of paper-mache wings to her back in order to look like an alicorn.

“No one is going to believe this.”

“Of course they will,” Pinkie Pie replied, stumbling in the thick layer of weeds and mud over the ground. Whenever you’re trying to dispose of a body, there is always a marsh.

The sudden upset shifted the bundled carpet. Twilight was confronted with her own face, some blood had remained hidden from Pinkie’s draining, and it now leaked from dead sinuses and drained past her eyes.

Staring eyes. Why had they left her eyes open? The unicorn wanted to reach for her ... its ... face. To close those eyes. To close her eyes.

Desperately, Twilight broke eye contact with the ... it ... and asked the question she’d been holding in. “Why hasn’t she changed back?”

“Change what?” Pinkie was definitely starting to show signs of having drank a bottle of aftershave, her words clearly slurring now.

“She didn’t change back,” Twilight spoke in a monotone, staring into the other Twilight’s violet eyes, “back into a changeling.”

“Cuz she’s not a changeling, I dunthink.”

“Then what is she?” Twilight’s spittle spattered upon the lavender face in front of her.

“She’s a ... we’re here.”

Twilight looked over the edge of a fence, seeing an array of rabbit hutches. The pair’s arrival had drawn activity from the lagomorphs; who slowly loped forward, their white fur reflecting pale in the night.

“Pinkie, these are the rabbits,” the scholar had read a lot of veterinarian manuals recreationally, and they were very specific on the dietary habits of rabbits. “Once they get a taste for blood, there’ll be no stopping them, and regardless of her missing penis, I don’t think Fluttershy would appreciate us turning her rabbits into crazed pony-eating beasts!”

Pinkie was non-plussed. “How do you think she affordsh all that animal food?”

“I don’t care, tax rebates or something!”

“No, shilly! She’s got a deal with the mortician. Very secret, very under the table,” Pinkie, changeling Pinkie, leveraged the body over the fence, “must be six feet under it, at least.”

The first bunny approached the body, sniffing at it for a moment, and then ... and then ...

Twilight finally lost whatever remained of her last meal. The wet sound of digestive fluids and chunks spreading across the dirt, covered the sound of it in progress.

The rabbits swarmed across the body, and the curious unicorn could only hold herself back for a moment. As she looked back up, one of them ripped off an ear. The tattered scrap flapped free, dripping black along the edges as it disappeared beneath a twitching nose and whiskers.

Among the maggots, Twilight could make out no part of her body from the writhing mass of consumption. Nothing, but the head. The foddered face stared back at Twilight; it was not accusing, just a reflection. Her own face. Its mouth lolled open, dangling a fat tongue and the tooth that Twilight had chipped a few hours ago. And the filling she’d gotten six years ago.

“I can’t trust you,” Twilight murmured to the pink mare, “How could I trust somepony who just ... she was one of you!”

“Pretty sure I’m not a Twilight Sparkle,” responded Pinkie, “although I’m not sure what I am right now. Are you seeing these fireflies?”

“But then, who can I trust?” She turned to Pinkie, desperate for some reply that would elucidate everything.

“No one.”

“But ...” Twilight stammered, “how do I know? Because everyone is lying to me-”

“They’re all lying to you,” she repeated over the sound of the rabbits finally tearing into the head of the former, other Twilight Sparkle.

“And you’re lying. You told me you’re lying, and I ...” the words were on her tongue. She looked into a puddle. There was her mane, her horn, her face. The same she’d ever been, and certainly not eaten by rabbits. Why not?

“I quit. I’m done. I don’t care anymore. I’m me and this is here, and that’s the end. I don’t need to know, because I already do.”

The world waited a second. A few dust motes passed by her, dancing meaningless against the wind.

“I am Twilight Sparkle.” She winced, as if expecting the words to bring down a lightning bolt upon her head.

When nothing happened, she repeated it, “I am Twilight Sparkle and this is Ponyville and I think ... I can live with that.”

She turned to Pinkie, expecting a critical response. Instead, the pony was smiling broadly. She had settled back on her haunches in order to clapping her forehooves together. Could ponies even do that?

“Congratulations.”

The lavender unicorn called Twilight Sparkle turned her head as nothing revolved around her, and she found herself witnessing the rest of them.

Applejack, her formerly stern mask shifted toward one of welcoming, Sweetie Belle’s innocent accepting, Fluttershy’s scheming plot, Granny Smith’s aged face, Rarity and her shorn pate, all of them winking and nodding.

“Congratulations.”

The words and clapping reverberated for a moment, and then it was silent again.

She was alive in this world.

She was Twilight Sparkle.

She was.