Back to the Library

So this is where we stand. Ace has gallopped off, clearly a busy man pony, and I’m still halfway out of the restroom door, my forehooves planted on the clean linoleum hallway, on the first floor of the Ponyville general hospital.

“He’s gone, Sweetie,” Rarity says, and when I look up she’s sitting next to me again. Ready for mounting. In a totally platonic sisterly way. Taking in a breath I didn’t know I was holding, I manage to relax, climbing up onto her broad green sequined back. I feel a lot safer up here.

“Sorry you still have to carry me,” I say with embarassment in my voice.

“Sweetie, the fact remains,” Rarity says as she starts on a brisk walk through the hospital to its exit, “That you have no long term injuries or crippling problems,” Boy, if only she knew. “That is more than anypony could have hoped for, and I for one am very grateful, that all I have to do is carry you about for a week or so.”

I lean against her warmly, murmuring, “I really appreciate it... sister.” And I really want to convince myself that I’m just appeasing her or teasing myself, but... she really is the older sister I’ve never had. It’s this stupid body, I guess. Sweetie Belle has the same pheremones as Rarity’s flowery scent or something, and I just can’t feel bad about calling her my sister. I should, and Sweetie might be really mad at me for trying to steal her, but... I just really need a sister right now.

We have lunch at the boutique, and this time my sandwich bread is... dark pink. I stare at it uncertainly, whereupon Rarity says placatingly, “Is something wrong, Sweetie? It’s your favorite!”

“No, I’m just curious,” I say, carefully sliding the slice free, and lifting it up to look at it. “Why’s it pink?”

“That would be the inclusion of the most beautiful flowers,” Rarity says informatively. “I am quite certain that amaranth is not nearly as appealing without that little aesthetic touch. And it’s so good for your mane, dear!”

“Interesting...” I say thoughtfully, sneaking my face forward to lift up a corner and take a little nibble. It does taste flowery, and sweet, but in a good way! Like, a good vanilla licorice way, not just sugary sweet. The sweetness is pleasantly offset by the mustard that oozes out when I bite down on—wait mustard?! Rarity also procures for me a nice cold glass of milk, something I never enjoyed, but my horse taste buds make it taste more thick and creamy than the milk I’m used to. ...which is 3% skim now that I think on it. Damn you, you overhyped fat-free craze!

Thus with the combination of chocolate, cow milk, and mustard making my horse belly feel—in a complete reality break—pleasantly full, the issue comes of what a little girl is going to do with herself in the middle of a summer vacation.

Who isn’t supposed to walk.

“Perhaps you could...” Rarity herself stalls trying to think of a possible occupation. “Well, you’re always welcome at my boutique, so long as you try to stay out from underhoof, but I couldn’t ask you to merely tolerate while I catch up on my orders for today. But your friends as well, wouldn’t want to get in trouble after such an auspicious warning from the good doctor...”

“Oh!” I speak up in realization, “Do you know Wheely um... something. There’s a pony Scootaloo knows who was repairing her wagon. If Scootaloo and I could visit her, she might fix Scootaloo’s wagon, so that I can ride on it.”

“I do believe I’m familiar with her,” Rarity says thoughtfully, “Not sure why Scootaloo couldn’t just go herself. Unless you’ve suddenly developed an interest in mechanisms?”

“Mechanisms?” I ask uncertainly, “No, I just meant she would know it’s important, if I was there. Plus we could watch her, but I don’t really know what she does or anything. But then Scootaloo and Apple Bloom won’t get frustrated from not walking good, so they won’t want to get in... trouble.” Trouble like running around, or trouble like grinding on a certain somepony’s tail base. I can’t believe Scootaloo didn’t think it was weird to ride me! Though I am riding Rarity right now. Oh no, I’ve been riding Rarity all this time! Does that mean all this time she’s felt—no, no it can’t possibly be that bad. I’m riding her like a... well, like a horse. But Scootaloo was riding me like a stallion rides a mare. Though admittedly my tail was in the way. And it’s not like Scootaloo was hanging onto my hindquarters or anything, more around my chest, or whatever you call that part of the barrel. Is it just that I’m used to riding on Rarity already? We’re already an old couple? Heh.

“It sounds like a perfectly splendid idea,” Rarity said, “But that would be contingent on Ms. Wheely conceding to entertaining a visit.”

“Well, I assume,” I say but that sounds a bit too smart coming out of Sweetie Belle’s mouth, “I mean, I think she runs a shop, so it would be ...public?” Boy it’s gonna burn me one of these days, if I can’t learn more about horse laws.

“You wouldn’t be seeking out her services though,” Rarity argued, “Not to mention your... condition.”

“Well,” I say a bit frustrated now, “I’m not supposed to walk but if she kicks me out I can walk...ish.”

Rarity gives me a hug. “I mean your feelings this morning,” she says in a chiding tone, “Do you really want to be stranded in the middle of a strange town—”

“Ponyville,” I correct her.

“All alone, with no one to comfort you—” Rarity stubbornly continues.

“Scootaloo will be there,” I helpfully point out.

“And under strict orders to not move under your own power?”

“...I don’t have to go,” I reluctantly admit. “She probably would be fine though. I won’t get in the way, honest!” In truth I’m very curious as to this mysterious wainwright of Scootaloo’s. Plus it’d suck if I just had to sit around coloring all afternoon.

“Just...” Rarity rubs her chin and plants her hoof, saying, “Are you okay, Sweetie Belle?”

I look at her. “I feel... fine?” I say with a slight tinge to my cheeks. What is she so worried about?

“You were just so scared this morning,” Rarity sighs, looking aside. “I simply couldn’t live with putting you through that again.”

My stare continues unabated, speechless as I try to carefully formulate my response. Don’t want to give her the wrong impression, but... “It’s because I was worried about you,” I say to her.

“Me?” she answers in honest surprise.

“When it grabbed you, I—” my muzzle tightens as emotion wells in my breast. “I didn’t know if it hurt you, or dropped you. I don’t think I could ever be happy if you... if something happened to you.”

She doesn’t seem to understand so I add, “I wasn’t worried about me. I can always tell if I’m okay or not. But you screamed and then... were gone, and then I didn’t know. That’s the only thing I was upset about.”

She mouthed out some words silently... my words? Rarity smiles then, giving me a palpable sense of relief, and says, “Let’s see if we can catch Scootaloo then, and help her track down this mechanist of hers.”

Finding Scootaloo isn’t hard, but catching her is another story. She is making a lot of noise on her scooter actually, blasting right down the street Rarity was walking towards, just a blur of orange and purple as she passes us by.

...

“Well, so much for that idea!” Rarity declares loudly, making an about face heel turn right on the spot.

After my mount stops spinning, I say, “What? Aren’t we gonna get her?”

“Er, Sweetie Belle, I really don’t know what to tell you,” Rarity says disappointedly, “When that filly gets going, there are not many who could keep up with her. I suspect she’ll be all over town today. I hoped to catch her at the delivery agency, but clearly we just missed her.”

“Delivery agency?” I ask curiously.

“Yes, a resourceful mare by the name of em... Cotton Cloudy I believe, has found a summer job for Scootaloo. Flower deliveries, if I don’t miss my guess,” Rarity explains clearly. “Normally on a Friday, this summer at any rate, you would be spending the afternoon er... at the library, occasionally joined by Apple Bloom, who is on her own for most of today.”

“I’m sorry Rarity,” I cut in remorsefully. “I um, forgot everything about Scootaloo doing that. There’s so much I don’t know, sorry. I would never have suggested it if I remembered about Scootaloo’s summer job. We can always do it later.”

“Yes, forgot, hmm,” Rarity says speculatively, “Well, I didn’t want to suggest the library because of your earlier... experience there, but I am willing to offer if you’d like to go.”

“But don’t you have to catch up on your orders?” I point out.

“Oh, well of course but it’s not too much trouble to drop you off at the library, really,” Rarity says lazily, “It might work out well in fact, with your mobility limited to the library itself I don’t think that would bother the good doctor all too much, and you’d be able to move around a bit. And I would be there to pick you up around dinner time. So what do you say, would you like to do a little em... reading?”

My mental wheels are turning; they’re a bit rusty, but they’re definitely turning. I think I might be able to make this work out. “That sounds lovely,” I say thoughtfully, “Plus with my amnesia, there’s a lot I have to learn again.”

“Oh, splendid darling!” Rarity says, turning a different way to trot down the street at a quicker pace. “If you have any questions, do ask the librarian. I’m sure she can help you.”

“Why isn’t Twilight the librarian?” I ask curiously.

It's amazing how much information you can convey when you're pressing your bodies together. Rarity's hesitance is clearly telegraphed by a slight tensing underneath me. It's an ordinary innocent reaction, but I never had a chance to feel that before.

“I mean,” I follow up nervously. “I know she’s... busy, in the Badlands. Is the new librarian t-the old one or... something?”

“Well I... actually," Rarity says hesitantly, slowing in her walk, "I don’t precisely know. I think the town council appointed her, after Twilight’s extended...leave of absence. We should ask her!”

“If I wanted to, what does she look like again?” I ask reluctantly, feeling iffy about the prospect of interrogating a strange pony.

“You’ll recognize her as the mare in the library vest,” Rarity explains helpfully, still trotting underneath me to cross the town to where the library may be found. “Her cutie mark is an open book. Cerulean, with a carrot mane, if I recall. I...don’t actually recall her name, I’m afraid,” Rarity says with some consternation. “I’ll have to remedy that. She might be a Fillydelphia transplant?”

“You sure know a lot of ponies around town,” I remark with honest approval. I honestly didn't expect Rarity to even remember that much, if she doesn’t know the librarian on a personal level.

“Oh thank you dear, I do try,” Rarity smiles, and sure enough there's that slight relaxation beneath me. I wonder what I feel like to her. I wonder what it feels like to be ridden.

The library is as larger inside than it is outside as ever. It actually goes down some stairs in the back beyond the opening atrium, so I’m not sure how much that is spatial anomaly, and how much it’s ponies being part gopher with the way they seem to bury into the ground. How would a pony even dig, though? It’s not like I have long, shovel-like claws at the end of my hooves. Shovel in mouth I suppose, but that hardly lends itself as any evidence for a natural inclination to dig. Rarity takes me to the children’s section again and helps me off her back.

“Thanks Rarity,” I say to her, “I um... I can go to other parts of the library too though, right?”

“Other parts?” Rarity says curiously.

“Yeah,” I say, with a rather wary look at the smiling cartooney (more cartooney) ponies decorating the walls, no doubt cheerfully saying in word bubbles about how fun it is to read. “If I’m going to find out about my... self, I probably have to read grown-up books too.”

“You’re free to read whatever books you like, Sweetie,” she says, lifting my chin with a hoof. She cautiously adds, “Don’t feel you have to strain yourself though. You can rest assured that your sister and her friends are doing their very best to help you. Everypony just wants you to get better as best as you can, so don’t feel upset if you do your best and simply can’t find anything.”

Standing before me, with me standing before her, just two ponies facing each other looking up and down respectively, Rarity says, “Are you sure you’re going to be alright by yourself?”

“I’ll be fine, R— sister,” I say at least half confidently. “I might get scared again if a monster drags you away, but I don’t think I could be scared by myself in a library.”

She looms up to me and kisses me on the forehead, making me wince and blush tenderly. “You’ll be the very first to know,” she says in a wry tone, “If I have escaped from some creature from the Everfree, or whatever that was.”

I start to laugh at that, but before she leaves I remember something. “You could ask the flower trio,” I point out.

“The... flower trio?” she asks, turning slightly. Oh shoot.

“Um, the... there were three ponies fighting it I remember,” I say a bit nervously, “One had a rose cutie mark, one had a lily cutie mark and one had a daisy cutie mark, and they had u-um... flamethrowers... so they probably know... something.”

Rarity laughs as if caught off guard, saying, quietly, “I do suppose those three are a trio, of flowers. That’s such a darling way to put it though. Perhaps I’ll tell them they’re ‘The Flower Trio’ next time we meet.”

“Oh, um...” I say, feeling like I dodged the bullet there. “So I don’t remember what I’m supposed to call them though.”

“Besides Rose, Lily and Daisy?” Rarity says jovially. Neither of us are sure what to say to that. “Well, have a good day then, Sweetie,” Rarity says uncomfortably, beginning to trot off.

“Bye, Rarity!” I ...quietly exclaim. She smiles, and trots off a little less uneasily. Soon, the posterior of my sister is the last thing I see vanishing around the corner toward the library’s sunny exterior. And so I’m alone, in the library. Nopony bothering me, or taking me anywhere, or expecting anything of me. I can’t read a single word, but I have an idea of what to do about that. And I just... almost died this morning, didn’t I.

Or did I? Rarity seems seriously blasé about that affair, and I’ve never had the opportunity to put my life in danger before so I don’t know if that’s a normal way to feel about near death experiences. But what about that fall the other day? Was that only the magic of the helmet, or are ponies just indestructible? But I was falling from a lot farther than I did off of Scootaloo’s scooter. That was the kind of fall that leaves you nothing more than a mangled corpse on impact. And that thing freaking threw me! Did I really just almost die?!

The walls of this library are a light tan in color, what looks like the natural color of the wood of the tree. Throughout the library there are aisles of separate bookshelves, piled up with books, but the bookshelves on the walls appear to be carved into the walls of the living wood of the tree. The floors in contrast are eerily uncarved, perfectly flat despite having a slight texture of the grain to them. I can feel the ridges and sworls in the wood underneath my hooves. How does something like this even get constructed? Or... grown? Now that I’ve seen a building made out of the fattest trunked tree I’ve ever conceived of in my life, I wonder why others like it aren’t as common. Expensive perhaps? Hard to grow, or maybe it’s someone’s special talent? I wonder what a tree house growing cutie mark would look like?

I’m not alone in the library, if that was ever in question. Being a public library in the afternoon, there are several foals here, and surprisingly few parents. They’re just walking in and out, and sitting around reading on bean bags and cushions. I have to wonder, are foals just naturally more well behaved than human children? I’m supposed to be what... 8? I know I would never have ever destroyed a book when I was 8, but I was on the end of the bell curve, and most kids would start wrecking property the moment they get a chance.

I really sympathize with why kids do that. When your every moment is supervised, and it suddenly goes away, you want to get back at the people who restricted you for so long, make it so they can’t hurt you anymore. And you know it’d upset them if you started coloring in books, so you get that devilish drunken shifty eyed grin on your face and pull the marker you’ve snuck with you out of your pocket. And once you’ve had a chance to test your limits and still found them less limiting, you just go crazy, and any games you play quickly devolve into running around and screaming, because you are just so very excited that you don’t know what to do with yourself.

But here, foals are pretty much just... reading. Putting a book on the cart and walking outside. A few whispering to each other over what they’re reading, but certainly not going mad with power. Are ponies really that much different than humans? Or is it something else? I can’t help but get the nagging feeling that it’s something else. Every foal is body swapped with a human? Yep, something mysterious.

Oh my gosh, there’s Dinky! Or... I mean, a foal who might be Dinky, who might or might not have any relation to Derpy and/or Carrot Top, but definitely Sparkler, who may be a delight to be around or a horrible pain since the sum total of her spotlight in the show was getting irritated at a sticky lid on a peanut butter jar. I probably... shouldn’t approach this foal. Looks like she’s really into whatever it is she’s reading anyway. It’s a um... picture book. Of squirrels, apparantly.

She glances up as if she sensed me staring at her, and I hurriedly look away. I—I can introduce myself later, it’s fine. I just have to walk out of here...for now. I lift a hoof and I’m not sure which... oh right, I still have to count. Ugh.

“1,” I mumble quietly putting that hoof down. “3, 2... 4, 1... 3, 2 huh.” Feels kind of off beat, but I am moving forward closer to the bookshelves in the back. Not the ones flush to the wall, but the ones where ponies can walk between them. I continue to count out, trying to feel that bumpy rhythm that makes my tail sway back and forth, until I’ve managed to get into the bookshelves themselves. Using push-pull I manage to pull out a necessarily random book, and I manage to lean it up against the bookshelf itself, gently biting the corner of the binding to pull it open. My hoof is way too uncoordinated to turn pages without risking tearing something, so I just leave it open to whatever page it starts out at as.

“Sweetie Belle, are you there?” I hiss out as quietly as I dare.

After an uncomfortable moment, her voice comes, also whispering quietly, “Yes, but is it safe to talk now?”

“I’m going to pretend I’m reading out loud,” I whisper looking at the book where the picture has some ponies walking underneath a smiling sun, “Very quietly. And you can pretend too, so if anyone hears us talking they will think I’m just reading.”

“That’s a great!” Sweetie exclaims, then says quieter, “That’s a great idea,” So I just start right into it.

“One day someone woke up inside a unicorn,” I whisper out, “Wanting to find out how she got in the unicorn’s body, she went to the—”

“She?” Sweetie asked critically. “But you’re a stallion! I mean but he was a stallion all along.”

“Not right now I’m not!” I whisper out indignantly, mumbling “It doesn’t matter, anyway.”

“But she was still curious why he thought it doesn’t matter,” Sweetie recited quietly.

I bury my nose further in the book and grumble out, “She went and touched her filly parts until she orgasmed, and if she was a stallion that would be really bad, so she’s just denying it to try and pretend she’s good.” Something feels off about that explanation, but it’s got to be the truth, right? Regardless, I did something unforgivable and it doesn’t matter how I feel about it.

There is a thoughtful silence from Sweetie Belle. I spare a glance to look around, seeing nopony walking past the shelves where I am hiding back here. I have to snap back to the book, and mouth out her words as if I’m saying them, when she speaks up a bit vindictively, saying, “She had another she in her head, who was really curious why it’s bad for stallions to orgasm, so—”

“No I mean,” I interrupt her anxiously. This was a bad idea. The problem with getting information from Sweetie Belle is I should just leave my foot in my mouth where it belongs. Or, hoof as it were. “It’s bad for a stallion to touch a little filly on her... petals,” I say, searching for a euphemism that would actually have meaning that I don’t have to explain to the real Sweetie.

But Sweetie takes that in stride, continuing with, “Her other head pony was really curious why it’s bad for a stallion to touch a filly between her legs, so this creature who was a pony went on a big adventure to find out why it’s bad. Or maybe just told her,” Sweetie finishes with a resentful hmph.

Boy the picture in this book looks cheesy. I wonder what these ponies are so happy about. Instructions for having a picnic, perhaps? Just a story? I have got to get us back on track here. All this bottom talk is making my bottom feel the floorboards beneath it as I fidget my tail around restlessly. I can’t even tell Sweetie for sure, since I don’t know how ponies work. What if they don’t get pregnant despite having reproductive organs and just have wishing stars grant them babies instead? ...yeah, but I really don’t want to tell her and assume everything is the same. Those foals were so well behaved, maybe they’re just more mature than human kids?

“She wanted to tell her, even though she was scared to tell her,” I continue the ‘story’ I’m reading, always at a quiet whisper. “But she had to check some books first, to make sure it wasn’t just only bad for human stallions. There was a very important problem though, that she needed the real filly’s help with.”

“What was it?” Sweetie asks in a thoroughly engrossed tone.

It’s kind of hard to admit, even now. I was a huge reader all my life, from the age of 3 and onward. Books were my most trustworthy companions throughout my life, until I started feeling like they too betrayed me, but then electronic books and online spontaneous textual braindumping took their place. I once ended up in a foreign country on a family vacation and the inability to read was terrifying. But even then, I knew enough of the language to recognize words here and there. This is just... where do the letters even divide? It’s some sort of cursive. That’s right, a printed book and it’s written in extra flowery alien cursive. What is my life.

“She needed her help because she couldn’t... read...” I barely mumble out.

Sweetie’s pause was even longer this time. “Oh!” she declares triumphantly, then in a hasty whisper, “That’s why I couldn’t read anything on your magic portrait. It had pictures, but the other things must have been letters! I– she um, she was very happy to help him—help her read, since she was really good at reading, and she hasn’t been able to help her at all this entire time.

I stare at the book, unable to even. At last I manage to whimper out quietly, “You have helped me so much, Sweetie. I—she was so grateful she didn’t even know what to say.”

“Wh—so she then said what she was so grateful about,” Sweetie continues peevishly, “Because the filly in her head couldn’t even do anything.”

“But the filly talked to her,” I counter, “And told her she was okay. It was so nice not to worry that something terrible happened to her. And before she was stuck like this, she saved the fil—s-stallion, from... from a whole life of sadness and fear. She showed the stallion magic, and even though the stallion was a filly now, the world was magic and that meant she knew everything was going to be okay. The stallion thought he could never be happy ever again, and the filly she... she made h-her so h-happy...”

I can’t even see the book anymore, so I just focus on wiping at my eyes while Sweetie weeps apologetically, “I’m sorry, I don’t know it’s just so sad!” I have to bite my lip... her lip, but it settles down enough that I can take a breath in and out.

“Sorry, I’m the one doing it,” I whisper to her seriously. “It’s because I’m so happy it—I... sorry.”

Yeah, opening my mouth... bad idea. “Let’s just find the books,” I mumble at her.

“The ones about stallions touching me?” she asks innocently. My horn fits neatly in groove of the book’s binding when I press my forehead into it with a sigh.

“We need to find books about ghosts,” I say, “And other... possessy things, to find out what I am.”

“But...” Sweetie says, with an adorable yet invisible pout.

“We need to find books about ghosts...” I repeat, adding guiltily, “And then maybe books about... your special place.”

Taking another look around, I only see a foal wandering further away from us. I guess we were discreet enough. I look at the book still lying open, but instead of closing it I make sure to say, “And the real filly inside her head could read the signs, so she knew where to find books on ghosts and incor—creatures that don’t have bodies of their own.

“Like Nightmare Moon,” I finish, closing the book.

I’m in the process of picking it up and putting it where I got it from while Sweetie whispers, “Nightmare Moon? Why her?”

“You remember,” I prompt her, looking idly at my hoof there against the shelf of books. So weird to see an animal appendage, right next to humanity’s greatest achievement. “She could turn into mist and float around, kind of like a ghost.”

“How do you know?” Sweetie asks amazed.

I have to roll my eyes though. “Remember my magic portrait?”

“You had pictures of her too?” Sweetie asks in an aghast tone.

“Sssh,” I hiss cautiously, “Yes, lots of pictures that I can’t um... show you anymore.” Dang. That’s kind of sad. Wait no, real ponies >>> imaginary ponies, even if I can’t get pictures of NMM being badass. But it’s still kind of sad. I would love to show these ponies some of the pictures they inspired. Not... all of the pictures they inspired, but you know, the ones that don’t lead to an angry mob hunting you down in the night with torches and pitchforks.

“Just look for where ghost books are, and creatures,” I say, “I can um, walk as far as the adult section, but you just tell me...” I pause because I think somepony is looking at me. Foal wants to return a book it looks like, a cheery red earth pony with a book in her mouth. “Boy that was a good story,” I say slightly audibly, “Time to go find the thing ...about things!” And with that, I count my way out of the bookshelves, leaving the filly free to look at me leerily, then put her book away.

I carefully edge around the corner, mostly by leaning on it and dragging myself around. There’s no stairs in the other room thank goodness, but if there are any, I’ll be in trouble. I have to learn sometime though, right? Maybe if it’s just a few stairs I can try it. But no, I’m not supposed to practice. So just... hobbling along enough to get where I need to go.

The main part of the library is a lot bigger, and... it’s kind of scary the way the ceiling arches so high above, and everything is sized up for ponies who are a whole lot bigger than me. It doesn’t help that those ponies are literally walking around in here. I feel like a dwarf among giants. Or a child among adults, yeah. Not... comfortable with this, but to hell with the idea of spending my second childhood afraid to leave the children’s section. So I manage to present my face toward a promising row of aisles, with books along the wall of each aisle. Standard library fare. “Is this good?” I whisper to Sweetie.

“Oh! Um,” she whispers surprisedly, “No, this is the fiction section. I think I saw non-fiction behind us.”

So I make the lengthy process of turning around, which involves sitting down and half rolling to drag myself in a 180 degree circle. I... definitely don’t want to make a habit of this. A few ponies... adult ponies are giving me funny looks. I think I’m starting to see what Ace meant. So, no learning this allowed. I am committed to not committing these movement hacks to memory. I hop lightly to my feet again and can’t lift my hoof off... ugh, right pushapull and counting. I count my steps as quietly as I can, blushing up a storm for anyone who might be watching. Gosh I hope no one’s watching. I must look so stupid. At least with the greater atrium of the library being much, much larger, it’s easier to avoid other ponies than in the children’s wing.

But... eventually I manage to lose even that bespectacled blue pony’s interest, and none of them there try to accost me or herd me (heh) back to where the kiddie books are. So as I’m left alone, I risk whispering, “Okay, this looks good. Now which aisle...”

“That one over there says Creature-something to... Cooking,” Sweetie suggests.

She doesn’t qualify herself, so I hiss, “Left or right?”

“Oh, um... left,” I walk forward to the aisles, using them to pull myself to face leftwards. Then I start walking slowly, pausing at each aisle. “Which one?” I whisper.

“That—um, no wait...” she says, until I pass the aisle I’m in front of, then, “That one! Turn right!” I do my best to mouth out her words as she speaks them, as if I’m psyching myself up to uh... look up a book. Then I look at the shelves and shelves of unreadable books in front of me. “Other side,” Sweetie whispers, so I look to my right instead.

“See anything?” I say.

“Um, a book about... great serpents, and.... another one about... chime-ras.” I orient myself there and start drawing my hoof from title to title, with Sweetie listing off each... creature in question. Sometimes you can see them illustrated on the binding, but many of the books are just featureless, and without a barcode to be seen. Almost all hardback. Finally she says, “Specters,” and I pull that book out.

“Okay,” I say, managing to lean it up against the bookcase again. “’I’m’ going to read this and ‘I’m’ going to try and figure out what to do with ponies who are possessed.”

I look at it a moment, before prompting, “That means you, Sweetie.”

“Oh! Um,” she says again. I just mouth out her words, looking at the book as intently as I can without being able to read it. “The Sleep Safely prim...primmer, to spectral um, feno... feno-meno..n...”

I blink at her... uh... words. She whispers, “Look lower, now. I finished reading the title.” I look a little closer, and sure enough the inside cover is facing me, with something big and bold on the first page, clearly a title. There are no pictures in this book.

“Okay, sorry,” I say, deliberately tilting my eyes to the body of text below the title. I hope she can read it without me scanning the lines, because I have no way to tell what line she’s even on.

“Many years ago,” Sweetie recites quietly while I mouth out her words, “I had the pleasure, to meet a coal...eagh... eah-goo-eh who statted that no um... guide has delivered a comp... comprey... comprey hens I’ve summary of super... natural feno-meno...n.”

Okay... this... is not good. It takes her 20 seconds to attempt to read just the first sentence. God? You are an asshole. Sweetie dutifully continues, and she is very good at reading... for an 8 year old little girl. Dammit, why did I have to be such a child genius?

No I’m not bragging. It’s the most frustrating thing in the world, if a certain dream hadn’t tipped you off, it sucks to be so super smart as a kid that you’re impressing everyone, and then just fall behind and fail at life the older you get, because nobody wants to admit there’s so much more to success than just being smart. And now even having an 8th grade reading level in 3rd grade is screwing me over, because it honestly didn’t occur to me that Sweetie Belle herself might not have learned to read as well as I did.

“What the polterghost has levitated may even since a chair... asterisk superlim...limnital—” I have to close my eyes to get her to stop. She’s practically just sounding it out at this point and I’m even more lost than she is. “Open my eyes, I can’t see—” Sweetie says frustratedly.

“Sweetie, do you know anyp-pony who can help us?” I interrupt her. “We need help. I can’t do this you can’t... this is just too much for us to do on our own. There’s got to be somepony who could... who we could talk to about... this.” I look down guiltily at my soft white girl belly. Of course there’s nopony I could safely tell about that. I just don’t know what to do though!

“Um, well Rarity...” Sweetie says reluctantly.

I shake my head... our head I guess. “Rarity would freak,” I say in a very convincing (if quiet) tone of voice. “It has to be somepony who... isn’t very close... um... who couldn’t get hurt by this.”

“We could trust my friends, but—” Sweetie whispers.

“But they couldn’t help us,” I finish for her.

“Yeah,” she whimpers unhappily, but then adds on a more forceful note, “What kind of pony could help us?”

“Well she’d need to know magic...” I mumble. “And she’d have to be smart and really... sneaky I guess. Good at keeping it secret. Um... not just smart but like, she’d be interested in what’s happened, instead of horrified or scared. Somepony who’s really into... weird... stuff.”

“Does it have to be a mare?” Sweetie asks in a note of curiosity.

I blink in surprise, saying, “No, why? I mean– I-I’m a little nervous about stallions like Rarity ...said.”

“It’s okay,” Sweetie says consolingly, “I am too. But just you keep saying ‘she’.”

“Oh, um... because it’s... sort of default?” I reply uneasily. Something doesn’t feel quite right about that, like I’m missing something. “She can be gender neutral,” I point out, “If you don’t know whether it’s a mare or a stallion, right?”

“I guess,” Sweetie says without conviction, “I just use hey and hem and stuff.”

“Hay and... hem?”

“Yeah, like,” Sweetie says reiterating in a chirpy tone, “Well hey’d need to know magic, and hey’d need to be smart and sneaky... like that.”

Is that what I think it is? “How would you use ‘hem’?” I ask carefully.

“You um...” she pauses to think, “like if somepony is... um... if I want you to give somepony ice cream, I’ll tell you ‘Please give it to hem.’ That’s... kind of a dumb example... I dunno”

“No it’s fine,” I whisper excitedly, “And is there also heir and um... hemself?”

“You do know them, then?” Sweetie asks.

“They sound just like they, them, their and themself,” I clarify. “You just started with aitch instead of thuh.”

“Oh. Huh,” she says back quickly, “But they and them is for when it could be lots of ponies. Hey and hem is for only one.”

“Gotta warn you,” I say to her, “I’ll probably use ‘she’ on accident a lot, until I get used to that.”

Just then a pony walks down the very aisle we are in. I freeze, looking up at the green h-h-him oh jeez another hot stallion, why... he’s got an aqua colored swoosh of a mane and green fur, and he’s a big strong looking earth pony and n-naked a-and he stops and looks at me thoughtfully. It’s possibly because here I am with a book about ghosts, talking to myself in the aisle. I just shut the book wordlessly and put it back on the shelf s-somewhere. Then I face the other way and almost fall over trying to walk, just scrunching my muzzle up and counting as fast as I can.

I just... keep going until I’m in the corner...what passes for a corner. The walls are round in fact, but some curve more than others and this doesn’t have many ways other ponies could see me talking to myself. Is it... safe?

“I think we can talk,” I mumble, pretending to browse the featureless selections.

“I just wanted to say there is a pony you could talk to,” Sweetie says. “I got distracted, sorry. I should have said right away.”

“No, it’s my fault too,” I say. “But... you know someone? I mean some one pony, who could help us?”

“Well, I dunno about help us,” Sweetie prevaricates, “But she’s really good at magic, and really sneaky and um... really weird. She’s kind of scary actually, but you said she should like weird things.”

“Will she ...hurt us?” I ask, “Or I mean, she won’t tell on us, will she?”

“Ohh no,” Sweetie says emphatically, “That’s what she would be telling to me, so I think she wouldn’t want to tell.”

“She wouldn’t... kidnap us?” I ask anxiously. Then I correct myself and ask, “Foalnap us?”

“What? No!” Sweetie whispers, “She just... she gets really excited sometimes and um... you said somepony who would get excited, so... I just...”

“Where did you meet her?” I ask curiously. This seems like quite the coincidence if a filly just knows some mare like this.

“Um, she moved to Ponyville when the s-secret project closed, the... you know, the one about Nightmare Moon,” Sweetie whispers nervously, “I’m not supposed to tell that I know, but you know all about it already, the students from Canterlot who foresaw her coming and um, snuck into Ponyville. So she was Twilight’s friend, and Twilight made friends with Rarity, so that’s how I know her.”

I blink slowly. “Y-yeah yeah I know all about all that,” I bluff frantically, “All sorts of magic pictures um, stuff.”

“So you do know about her!” Sweetie says brightly. “She’s the green one with the golden eyes, well not really green but I forget what Rarity called it, and a lyre as a cutie mark.”

“Lyra Heartstrings?!” I hiss out in a considerable degree of disquiet. Then I correct myself, saying in a quieter disquiet, “Oh gosh, um, I mean... I have pictures, but lots of them have the wrong name, so I don’t know what her name really is, but,”

“No, you got it right,” Sweetie mumbles.

“I don’t know how accurate my pictures are,” I tell Sweetie Belle, with a little hoof stomp for emphasis, “But I am not going to ask” an orange mare pokes her head around the corner, looking at me curiously.

“...going to pick this book for my summer...project,” I say, so very smoothly, putting my hoof on the bookshelf and pretending I didn’t see the mare. “No, this one isn’t right either. Oh this one looks good!”

“...she’s gone,” Sweetie says after I bury my nose in the book for a while. From the full color illustrations, it’s pretty obvious what I’m reading. Didn’t know this was the cookbooks section. I have no way to read the instructions. How the heck is that any way to prepare a pie?

Nevertheless relieved, I sink to my squishy butt again, letting the cookbook just topple over. “Sorry about that Sweetie I just can’t find any good place we can talk,” I say unhappily.

“They have reading rooms here, we could go there” Sweetie whispers helpfully. I hang my head in shame. Why did I not think about that.

“Yeah, that’s a... good idea,” I say feeling drained from all the subterfuge. “C-can you just go into them?”

“Yep,” Sweetie whispers, “If they’re not being used. Anypony who needs them is supposed to knock. B-bring the cookbook though, so it will look like we’re reading!”

I look at the rather large thing on the floor, then at my teeny little white hoof.

“...how?” I ask dumbfoundedly.

“Uh, on your back?” Sweetie says, as if that were obvious. I look at my back. Looking down the smooth white surface only dimpled by my shoulder blades, all I see is my tail balancing that round little unicorn rump, I’ve got plunked down. It’s a big thick pink and purple brush coming out of my rear, composed of terrible softness, and above that tail no gripping surfaces, only smooth furry flesh. I wiggle to my fee—hooves again, looking at that curvy round rump, not a flat surface to be found on it. There is a little bit of a ‘small’ of my back that dips down, but I can’t contort my neck that much, so it’s hard to see.

“I don’t think this is going to work,” I say unconfidently.

“Why not? What’s wrong?” Sweetie asks. In explanation, I take the book in my hoof, and... it’s kind of awkward to lift up. I end up tilting it against my hindquarters, and then use the bookshelf as a brace, to lever my backside underneath it. I try my best to keep the book balanced, but as soon as I leave the bookshelf’s support, the cookbook slides right off.

“I didn’t know you could,” I tell her dejectedly, “I don’t know how to carry things on my back. I think it might be another special thing only ponies can do.”

“Why didn’t you just hold onto it?” Sweetie asks me cagily.

“Because my hooves don’t reach back there?” I answer, as if it’s anything less than obvious.

A pause. Sweetie then exclaims in astonishment (thankfully quietly), “Oh stars, you think you can only grab with your hooves.” Again, I blink.

“You can grab stuff with your back too,” Sweetie explains. “It’s really easy.”

I... uh...

“...really?” I whisper, taking another look at my back. I try poking my butt.

“Not there,” Sweetie says, “On top. No a little more forward, yeah right there.” Following Sweetie’s directions has my hoof in a very awkward bend since I can barely reach back there, but a curious feeling when I press down on that spot. I mean, if I was touching another unicorn, it would just feel like any other part of her, but touching myself it feels kind of like a... hoof.

“This is so weird,” I say, poking it again.

“You always walked on two legs,” Sweetie says speculatively, “So, no wonder you didn’t know about holding onto things with your back, since your back was always sideways instead of straight!”

I sigh, saying, “Let’s... just talk in the reading room.” And it is far too easy to hold onto something with my back. A literally spine tingling sensation to be sure, but putting weight on there almost makes it seize up on its own, and it’s just like my hooves. You push into the book and... it stays there. It doesn’t even rock. It’s not like velcro it’s like... magnets or something.

I think the weirdest thing is how uncannily these strange abilities are tailored, to conform these ponies to fit what the show envisioned.

The reading rooms are easy enough to find now that I look for them. Walking to them is less easy. But I manage to wobble along the wall, using it for support until I find one of the little nooks here and there, with its door framed in living wood, curving out from the main room to delve into a little alcove within the tree trunk, like the bookshelves but more so. There’s a small table and a desk lamp here, and... no seats. Okay, good. I hate having to coordinate sitting on something with this body. The table is shaped like a tree stump and... in fact I think it is a tree stump because it appears to be growing out of the floor.

I stop once I inch my way into the room which is thankfully empty because I feel like my brain is going to burst from the tense tedium of trying to walk like this. It’s like when I started beating scrambled eggs with my left hand instead of my right one. That’s what walking feels like. Everything’s slow and deliberate and jittery and non-automatic. As soon as I stop, the book falls off my back and hits the floor. Oops, I didn’t... mean to... stop doing the thing with my back. How do I even imagine that, pushing into something on top of me in order to balance it in place?

Oh well, I made it into the room. I stand awkwardly before the book with a nervous expression, finally just craning down with my neck and biting down on the edge of the cover, dragging it over to the table where I can use my hoof to lever it up there. Okay, cook-book in place. Now I just have to... go back over there and close the door.

One frustrating trip around the table and back, and I’m finally in a cozy little reading room. The desk lamp is pleasantly lit with... something. The light shines in my eyes too brightly to look at it directly, but it seems like a pretty straightforward incandescent bulb. There is a bookshelf in the wall, but it’s mostly unpopulated with books, and the ones there are disorganized, on their side and not really stacked together. I can only guess that people, or, ponies put their reading material there when done.

But... more importantly, we can talk.

“Sweetie, my world didn’t have magic,” I explain to her in the quiet...er quiet. “People built a tunnel in a huge ring, and it was so big it could go all the way around Ponyville. They worked for years and years on it to make it perfect, decades even, all so so they could send the tiniest, smallest speck flying around this tunnel, faster than almost anything else in the universe. Then they used house sized magnets to make these specks run into each other and explode.”

I hold up my hoof again, “And they couldn’t do what this hoof can do.”

“B-but hooves aren’t magic...” Sweetie says with defensive apprehension. “They just... grab on things.”

“Maybe not,” I respond distantly, “But the fact that you have them is magic. It’s just too nice. It’s too much of a coincidence. It’s serendipity.”

“Seren-what?” Sweetie prompts me.

“Serendipity,” I repeat. “It means when... good things happen more often than you’d expect.”

I feel somehow less than satisfied at her simple quiet answer, “Oh.”

“What about that um, mare?” I ask, trying to settle in. It’s easier to stand, but there’s less room to do so and it puts my head hovering more over the book, though whether that’s good or bad for reading I can’t confirm. “You know Lyra Heartstrings?”

“Well, Rarity knows a lot of ponies around town,” Sweetie says noncomittally, “But yes, remember when we awoke the Lurm?”

“Um... I may have missed that,” I say uneasily.

“Well miss Lyra talked to me about that a lot. Supposingly nopony had seen one in centuries, so it was really special even if it um, tried to kill us.”

“So, a monster?” I say trying to imagine what the episode would be like.

“Well, we did set its nest on fire.” And now I’m having a lot easier time imagining what the episode would be like.

“Why did Lyra want to talk to you about the... Lurm?” I ask hesitantly.

“Oh she studies all so҉rts of creatures!” Sweetie says brightly. “She’s really smart, and she knows a lot about everything even the creatures in the Everfree forest!”

After a pause, she adds, “Sorry I couldn’t read,” in an insecure tone of voice.

“Oh, it’s okay,” I say feeling a bit guilty about that even if I am disappointed. “I forgot how um... you know Twilight Sparkle?”

“Um, yeah?”

“Twilight was just a little foal when I saw her reading, and they were big books without any pictures in them. I w-was like that too, so I read big books when I was your age, so I forgot other ponies wouldn’t read like an adult...”

“Miss Twilight is really smart,” Sweetie says self consciously. “I could never be as smart as her.”

“She is really smart,” I agree, “But she also worked really hard at it, to read those big books. If she didn’t work hard she’d be more like um... like how smart Cheerilee is.”

Sweetie giggles.

“What? Cheerilee’s smart too!” I protest casually.

“No, it’s just weird feeling my voice saying just Cheerilee,” Sweetie says, “Instead of miss Cheerilee.”

“My magic pictures didn’t say if she was a miss or a Ms.” I mumble with a blush, “So I could only call her Cheerilee. But I’ll call her miss Cheerilee now. That sounds better.”

“What’s the difference between a miss and a Ms.?” Sweetie asks in puzzlement. “I mean I know they’re different, but I never thought about it.”

“A miss is a la—a mare, who hasn’t been married yet,” I explain readily. “Or um, in a ...herd, or whatever you... have here,” I explain less readily.

“We have marriage...” Sweetie says in a sort of avoidant hesitance, so I press on.

“So you can only call someone—somepony a miss if she hasn’t been married before, and you can only call her a missus if she is married, but you can always call her a Ms. that’s just like a mister.”

“What do you call a stallion who hasn’t been married before?” Sweetie asks.

I resist the urge to say available. “Um...” I blush as my cultural bias starts tripping me up again. “I only know um... bad words for them.” Let’s see pimp, gigolo, neckbeard, loser, Don Juan, there’s a spectrum really but they’re all horrible.

“...sorcerer?” I try at last.

Sweetie laughs at that, “Sorceror? But what does not getting married have to do with magic?”

“Oh,” I say relieved that I can explain something for once. “There was no magic in my world, but some people thought um, pretended that there was magic, that it was just really rare. So anytime something rare happened, people would pretend that was where you could find magic.”

I lean on a hoof, feeling kind of funny for talking to myself, with Sweetie Belle’s mouth. I wish she was like, a ghost across the table from me, and not just a voice. Pretending she’s over there, I continue to explain, “So since it was really rare that a man would get to 30 years old without having suhhhhh...”

oh, fuck me

“Sweetie, do you know where babies come from?” I ask tentatively.

“Oh yes,” she says confidently, “From mommies’ bellies.”

...shit.

This is why you have sex, kids. Then, when you get transported into a little filly’s body in another universe, you won’t accidentally tell her disembodied voice that you never got laid, and thus have to explain the birds and the bees to her.