Refusal of the Call

“Alright lil’ Sweetie,” Dr. Ace says quietly, regarding me. He stands side saddle to me there in his office, with me on the couch, or rather, in the couch. I look at his strong flat back with apprehension, my eyes drawn to the elastic band that holds his shorts on, just a little strap that the furry hide of his hindquarters slides easily underneath, under where you could follow, to discover within...

“Now just hold your horses,” he says in a more relaxed tone, turning and walking toward the door, “While I go fetch a wheelchair, and we can get on our way.”

Oh, so I don’t have to ride on his back? That is such a disappointmentrelief. Relief.

He wheels the chair into the room, and I manage to at least pull myself up into it, by hooking my hooves... right ‘hook-hoof’ I get it. By hooking my hooves over the arms and pulling myself around, sitting on my tail that bunches beneath me. The wheelchair actually has no place to stick my tail out behind, oddly enough. I wonder why that is?

At least the wheelchair isn’t as... pleasant to sit in as that couch.

From there, he easily wheels me like a serving tray into what is most certainly not an athletic gymnasium. But it’s a clean room with a rough tiled floor, a long mirror on one of the walls, and lots of exercise equipment scattered about. There are a few other ponies there, divided into stations it looks like with the equipment shared between them. One ...patient for lack of a better word, is extending their limbs, while the attending pony dangles weights off of them, and the other patient appears to be doing wingups.

There, before I can comment on the physical impossibility of supporting yourself on feathers, Dr. Ace stops the wheelchair and announces brightly, “Alright, now let’s see you get out of that chair!”

“Right, okay,” I say as agreeably as I can in his presence. I push my elbows against the back of the chair, and... in what proves to be a repeating theme with me, I slide off it like a limp noodle. Having edged my butt off the wheelchair’s foot—er—hoof rest, I collect myself on the ground, as confidently as I possibly can.

“I can see we might have a little bit of work to do,” he mutters critically, a hoof held up to his chin.

I smile at him lightly, saying, “No, it’s... I’m just a little unsure of myself. I um... I can stand up on my own. Watch!”

It only takes me two tries to stand up, too! “Not bad,” he says approvingly when I do stand, walking around my short little splay legged form with a critical eye. “You mind trying out a few steps?” he utters distractedly. Because he’s distracted, busy watching me. Because he’s looking at me! Looking at every inch of of okay calm down, don’t panic. I’m fine. Everything’s fine.

He’s so freaking hot!!

I do manage to take a few steps, but slide out quickly, and stumble forward. He catches me before I go to the floor nose first, and a heavy blush consumes my face as I realize that he’s touching me, bracing me gently with a strong powerful hoof to ease me gently to the floor. I don’t think I could stand up if I wanted to, at this point.

“You know what your biggest problem is?” he asks me, unprompted. Yes, I know what my biggest problem is. He is my biggest problem. Him and his strong capable hooves that could wrap around me and... do completely innocent things. “Your pads aren’t engaging, just like your sister said!” he exclaims. “It’s no wonder you can’t walk!”

Somehow it makes me blush a little bit less in my lack of comprehension, looking at him with curiosity and asking, “What does holding things with your hooves have to do with walking?”

“Besides everything?” he answers with a question. “You’re gonna need to get a good grip with your hoof if you want to be walking on uneven ground, or an incline or say, a moving train!”

“That’s the first thing we have to do,” he decides, clapping his hooves decisively, “Get your hooves back in order. Then I bet you’ll remember how to walk like a fish to water!”

“How do we do that?” I ask honestly, completely at a loss how one would go about doing that.

“You ever play patty cake, lil’ Sweetie?” Ohh boy.

He holds out his front hooves in front of him. I don’t feel ...stable enough to lift both my front hooves, so I just lift my marshmallow white left hoof, and bring it up hesitantly to push against his. His hoof is so much bigger than mine. I can feel his hoof it’s so warm, and... and it’s holding onto me! I can’t pull it away.

“Now your other hoof, go ahead,” he says kindly. I have no words for how I feel right now. I can’t have words because I’m not allowing myself to even think about how I’m feeling right now. Oh god why can’t I stop staring at him. And he’s looking back at me too, those warm, concerned eyes such a deep shade of blue I... I can’t do this. I just can’t!

I’m ashamed to say I’m starting to get a bit frantic here. When I struggle wordlessly against him, he lets me go, my hoof plummeting from his grasp to the ground. With my hoof goes my gaze, as I scrabble precariously on the tile for a minute, before sliding to my belly. Staring down at the ground fixatedly, I feel consumed by my facial blush.

“Alright, we’ll try something else then,” he says in a guardedly non-judgemental tone. He doesn’t look satisfied with that though, and gives me a long, concerned stare. I can tell that he does that, because I can see the tips of both his front hooves angled in his sitting position, to point right at me. But that’s all I’m going to look at. His large, warm, capable... I squeeze my eyes shut.

He walks away for a moment, then the sound of his hoofsteps returns. “You’re gonna have to work with me here,” I hear his slightly miffed voice, as light, stiff things clunk against my front hooves. I open my eyes to see blocks of varying shapes and sizes. Just... colorfully painted wooden blocks.

“Sure, no problem...” I drawl out uneasily, still making sure to only look at the blocks and not him. “S-should I try to pick these up?”

“I just wanna see you push ‘em around for a while,” he says. I feel so stupid for not being comfortable with what my body is telling me, so much I can’t even look at him. Not to mention my body telling me things that surely can’t be right. Why would I ever be attracted to him? I’m not... I shouldn’t have to feel that way! Not to mention being reduced to stacking blocks like an uh, 8 year old. I start pushing around the blocks. Quickly, I discover that stacking blocks like an 8 year old, is actually way beyond my capabilities.

This is going to be a long day.

I’m so grateful when Rarity comes back. I’ve been trying, but this stupid filly body is just messing with me so much. I really don’t know how to deal with it. I look at him, and I have feelings. I have reactions. I have... an underside that’s getting to be feeling a little too frictionless, when squirming my legs together. That’s normal, right? But, for an 8 year old?? I’m not supposed to be feeling... damp down there, am I? Oh god my body getting ready for his cock; how am I supposed to act normal when that’s happening?!

I can’t stop thinking about it, all the while Rarity carries me, first to the toilet room where I try not to look forward to getting wiped again, and then out of the hospital down the street. We stop at a small food cart which doesn’t have the ...tastiest food, but it’s on the very periphery of a busy, crowded market. Rarity is clearly avoiding large crowds, considering how anxious I’ve been acting since meeting Dr. Ace, and... I’m really grateful of that. I don’t know if I would be okay with feeling another pony of any sort, even accidentally just bumping against me.

I can actually wrap my hooves around the um, aluminum-ish looking wrapper of some kind of roll. I’d say it’s a burrito, but I say everything rolled up in a soft shell is a burrito, so my knowledge of foreign cuisine is somewhat lacking. It isn’t the tastiest, as I’ve said, but the cheese is pleasantly musky, and the beans are plain but not salted too much. And since I can hold it, I can mostly eat it by myself, if I brace the bottom on my rather unflattering pot belly that appears when I try sitting Lyra-style. Rarity has to help with the napkin though. Thankfully she doesn’t help... down there with the napkin.

I can’t stop thinking about him. Rarity lets me lay about the boutique during her afternoon business hours, and were it not for the patrons coming in and making a fuss about their formal (or fun) wear, I... don’t think I’d be sitting here with a crayon in my mouth trying to learn how to draw again. No, I’d be doing something much less acceptable for an 8 year old. He was so warm and kind and freaking hot I just... it’s exactly the sort of thing that should get me going, and I’m afraid that’s just what’s going to happen if I let myself be alone.

I notice Rarity’s escorting the last two out, and turning the sign around on her shop. I guess it’s closing time. Well, I’ve had some time to think and okay no, I’ve wasted all my thinking time drawing pictures of Dr. Ace that look more like demented circles, and then giving up and just drawing flowers because they’re easier. But now that she’s closing up, I feel my heart rate pick up as I remember something that I really need to do. Even if I can’t walk yet, considering my performance today it feels like it could be weeks before I can, and I can’t wait that long!

“Rarity,” I ask in a tentative lilt, “Can we go to the library when you’re done?”

“Sure, Sweetie,” she says looking up from her dress rack, “I could use a reading break myself before we get started on dinner.”

Okay I am legitimately excited at this. I know what the library looks like, but I don’t know what it looks like from all angles. I only remember seeing it from one angle. And there’s a good reason for that, because the treebrary lies on the periphery of town. You can actually see it from the train station if you know what to look for, and that’s a different angle. But just walking through town, it’s always going to be alongside you, with one direction facing you, the face of the library I’m familiar with, framed on either side by a few more ordinary cottages.

And, if I could just freaking walk on my own, then I could walk around it and get as much a look of the library as I want. But no, I’ve got to sit here all wiggly on Rarity’s back, because my ’pads’ don’t work, and the wheelchairs are hospital property. It’s alright though, we’re almost there. I can almost smell the knowledge just brimming in that place. I’ve always loved libraries, even though they never did me any good. Just something about a building full of shelves of books. It always seems like the solution to my problem is hidden in there, just around the corner.

I find myself gazing around the library foyer. This tree really is big, but not too big for a library. It’s a lot smaller than the libraries I’ve been in of course, but that means an easier time finding things. You can have a huge library full of romance novels, biographies on war heroes and politicians, and a big walled off section for watered down, diluted books that children are allowed to read, and never find anything in it. Or you could have a small one full of guides, histories, texts, journals. It’s the quality of literature in a library that counts, not so much the size of it.

I guess that ties in with my reluctance to learn new things. I tried learning everything at first, and my head became like one of those big libraries full of junk. And now I just want to be a little library, and it may not have all the books in the world, but it’s sure to have the book that you need. Unfortunately, unlike a library, you can’t get rid of old junk in your head so easily. So I learned too late to be careful about what I learn, because of so much stuff I wish I could forget, just sitting there cluttering up my shelves for a very, very long time.

There’s a pony standing off to the side, shelving books, a dusty blue mare with a burnt orange mane. An earth pony it looks like, with a cute little pair of spectacles balanced precariously on the bridge of her nose. They can’t possibly be effective, considering the size of her eyes. Anyway, she’s the closest I can see to a librarian but doesn’t address us or anything, and Rarity seems to know where she’s going anyway.

Rarity takes me into the (ugh) walled off children’s section of the library, with a bunch of bright couches and beanbags. It’s um... small. It’s a cozy little reading room, with bookshelves all along the walls, but the shelves are not very high. I suppose I’m going to have to sneak into the not-kids section to get the information I want eventually, without drawing suspicion somehow, but hopefully here I can at least get some idea of what I’m dealing with.

“Anything you’re looking to read in particular?” Rarity asks me leadingly.

“I was thinking about stories about the Badlands,” I suggest craftily, “So I can learn more about what happened to me over there.”

“Hmm...” Rarity murmurs to herself, looking along the shelves.

“Can I get off?” I ask. “I can maybe help look too.” There’s no way I can help look. I have to try though. Maybe I could just fiddle through one single shelf, or pull myself along to the other shelves. So, she lets me off, dumping me on my back onto a lemon yellow beanbag, which is unsurprisingly comfortable, because beanbags are awesome. I crane around to the shelves but they’re too far away to reach, and before I think about trying to move, a book immediately prods my tummy. I turn to see it floating there in Rarity’s magic.

“You might try this?” she asks hopefully. “It is a bit... colty. I hope you don’t mind.”

I take a look at it. The front cover shows the picture of an earth pony colt striking a pose with monsters and explosions all around him, surrounded by flowery decorative patterns. And he’s got a comically large space laser to fight with. I can’t help but hold back a snicker.

Rarity inhales and I assure her, “No no it’s fine I just... I’ll try this one. Thank you.” It’s a hardcover—most books here are—so it’s easy enough for me to hook my hoof around the binding and open it. With a smile I open the book and begin to

I close the book. I look at the front cover again. Those aren’t decorative patterns, above and below the cover illustration. I thought they were just decorative patterns, but they’re not. They’re not decorative patterns. They’re... they’re...

I try to control my breathing, and open the book again, hoping maybe this time... no. No it’s exactly the same. I use my hoof to–it drags like half the pages with it, but I turn to a page in the middle. It’s all the same thing. I try taking a closer look at the bindings. Some of the other books on the shelf are thick enough to have readable bindings. It’s all the same thing. I...

I can’t read any book in this library.

And now I have to sit here, pretending to read. Pretending to read the beautiful sworls and abstract symbols that have absolutely no connection to meaning for me. Because I asked to come here. Because I thought I could... I I thought...

“Okay I’m done,” I whisper tensely. Did I wait long enough? Is she going to suspect that I can’t read? By all that’s holy I can’t read. Every book in here is... I–I can’t read. But they speak English! Am I even speaking English? But why would I know how to speak, but not how to read? The show! The fucking show didn’t want to have any actual books so they replaced all the writing with... with the stuff I’m looking at. Illegible scrawl and encoded graphemes that sort of look like stars and hearts and body parts.

I do wait even longer, because I notice Rarity didn’t hear my frightened whisper, and I really did want to delay a little longer just to be sure. I can’t even turn pages right with these stupid, broken hooves. I can’t even I– I can’t do this. There’s nothing I can do. I have total freedom, salvation from something I would rather not even contemplate. Everything is perfect and... and I can’t read. That means I can’t know what’s going to happen to me, and I can’t save Sweetie Belle. And I can’t do anything. I hate being so helpless!

Even as I angrily shove the book off my belly, I lunge after it in a panic, but it just keeps on sliding off the beanbag and clatters to the floor. Rarity looks up from her book. Hers has on its cover, two ponies standing alongside each other, surrounded by crashing waves. And I can’t read the title of it. How did I not see this coming?! Rarity’s looking at me.

“I’m done,” I repeat with an embarassed blush, a little louder this time. Not too loudly of course (this is a library) but loud enough that she can hear me. “I’m... I need your... I’m ...getting kind of hungry,” I say, despite desperately needing her help. I... I have to tell her now, don’t I. I don’t have any other choice! I’m totally helpless, and... for the first time in my life that really, really bothers me.

“I suppose,” Rarity says with a pout of disappointment. “You really should commit to one thing or another, instead of just flitting around like this.”

“I wi҉ll!” I exclaim, blushing and saying more quietly, “I will I just– I just need a little time to...”

“To eat, yes,” she finishes for me, dryly. “You’re right though,” Rarity admits, standing to her hooves. “This was rather last minute, and it is getting on to supper time. I understand your desire to learn about your condition more. You will have to schedule a longer time in the future, so you can fully satisfy your curiosity.”

Should I ask if we can check out an alphabet book? I don’t even know which is an alphabet book! Is this even an alphabet? Is it two alphabets? Rarity has no idea how unfully I am failing to satisfy my curiosity. So I just robotically say, “Okay,” and, “Thanks,” and then, “...let’s go eat.”

I wish I could describe what ponies I see, on my way back to the Boutique. Normally my eyes are going to tell me all about the ponies that I see and recognize. Normally I’m going to satisfy my burning hunger for knowledge by soaking in as much as I possibly can. Not when I’m like this.

I don’t really see much of anything in front of me; I just stare blankly forward, with the feelings consuming me inside. The biggest thing that sticks in my mind are those darned pink and purple curls. Sweetie Belle’s pink and purple curls, that keep bouncing down into my range of vision, in time with Rarity’s hoofsteps underneath me. I notice a swinging store sign that only has a picture of a smiling pony on it, and I notice it doesn’t only have a picture on it, but also words that I can’t read. And that’s about it. We’re at her boutique before I can even blink, the carousel themed structure looking a lot less intimidating than it did last night in the dark, shining with its lavender and blue pastel colors in the strong afternoon sunlight.

While I’m sitting around in there, waiting for Rarity to take care of everything for me because there’s fucking nothing I can do by myself, I idly pick up (in my mouth) the red crayon. Heedless of my previous scribbles, I carefully scrawl on the paper a large letter ‘A’. I lean back, looking at it. I can definitely read it. It being one single letter taking up the entire paper. But it’s not a letter in any of the books. I try writing a smaller B, and I can’t quite get my neck to turn right to get its shape correct. But a cross between capital gamma and a vertically flipped P, is still recognizable as the letter ‘B’.

This is hopeless. These letters are as useless as I am. What does it matter if I can read a language no pony has ever seen? I have a whole world of experience in my head, and it’s all just a big library full of stupid junk books that I just want to get rid of. What am I going to do, teach them my alphabet? Bring industrialization into the pony world? You mean like trains? Teach them the scientific method? As if they didn’t already know it! A tidbit which I could have easily known myself, if I could just fucking read their writing.

If I could just... be Sweetie Belle.

I spy Opalescence, a genuine srs faced persian kitty with magical purple tipped fur. She’s sitting up on the counter of one of the displays. She seems to sense me notice her and gives me an unapproving glare, before turning her back to me and sticking her ass in my direction. It’s funny, Sweetie Belle is so horrible with cats, I probably shouldn’t try to use my years of experience rendering cats to be putty in my hands to disturb that, but I still can’t help but think it would be neat to see if I could maybe cheer Opal up a little. She has to put up with Rarity, after all. Rarity may love Opalescence dearly, and she may be the best sister ever, but from what I’ve seen on the show, Rarity clearly does not know how to take care of a cat.

Of course, lacking 5 supple massaging digits is going to make this a bit problematic. Handy tip for any humans though is that fingers are way too smooth for cats. Use of your nails or, other rougher things, is quite advised. They don’t like heavy pressure, but roughness? Momma cat’s tongue. On reflection it occurs to me that this is true for ponies too, not the tongue thing, but if you’ve ever confused a curry comb with a medieval torture device, you wouldn’t be the first. Until you actually use the thing, and even if you put your whole weight into the effort of peeling off their skin, they’ll just lean into it and enjoy it even more. A curry comb is way, way too rough for a cat, but what I’ve seen so far...

“Rarity!” I shout as she trots by, abandoning my drawings for now.

“Yes, Sweetie?” she pauses to look down her glasses at ohmygodthat’sadorable me.

“Can I have a stiff brush?” I ask innocently.

Rarity smiles at that, saying, “Always good to think of your appearance, Sweetie. I’ll be right back wi–”

“No, I meant I wanted to try brushing Opalescence,” I correct her before she runs off.

Rarity stumbles on her hooves, saying in a placating tone, “Oh Sweetie, you know that only Fluttershy is really capable of managing dear Opal’s grooming.”

“Fluttershy can’t be here every day, right?” I ask Rarity, whose eyes dim at that remark. “Opal has really lots of fur,” I add, “So I think she would like anyb-pony brushing her, if it was every day.”

“Maybe later, Sweetie,” Rarity says reluctantly in reasonable disbelief. “For now let’s just get you in the bathtub.”

The evening bath, it turns out, is accomplished right when we get home. Get all that road dirt off, I suppose. I don’t even have it in me to ask. “It’ll be nice to get all that road dirt off,” Rarity says relievedly, depositing me beside the bathtub. Right, then.

She magicks the faucets, a lot less fidgety than at the lodge. Clearly Rarity is well familiar with this bathtub’s particular ratio of cold to hot. She grabs with her mouth, a bottle from a tray alongside the bathtub, and up-ends a dash of its contents into the tub, humming pleasantly the while. Just a splash of something. It’s a perfume, I think, from the smell that quickly pervades the air. An essential oil, perhaps?

Frankly I wouldn’t mind at this point if Rarity decided to put lipstick and eyeshadow on me. I’m just so scared of losing her I don’t even care what we do together. With the water full and steaming, she lifts me up and deposits me in the tub, and stands beside it as I feel the blessed warmth seeping in through my tired skin and relaxing my tense muscles. “Pardon me,” she says casually, getting me to look up from my bath trance and–

Rarity stretches one hind foot gracefully over the rim of the bathtub, the snowy white appendage descending smoothly into the water next to me. She’s– she’s getting into the bathtub! While I boggle, frozen in place, Rarity straddles the bathtub between her legs before lifting the second one over. Holding her tail high, she folds her lower body down, her triad of diamonds descending into the water, becoming wavering and indistinct. I look up from her hindquarters and she’s pulled her upper body up to just hook over the edge of the tub, and with a casual toss of her torso, slides into a sitting position in front of me, descending up to her whithers in the water with a satisfied sigh.

She notices I’m completely stupefied with a slight twinge at the corners of her mouth, not quite a wince. “It sure is lovely to end the day with a nice hot soak,” she says leadingly, “Wouldn’t you agree, Sweetie?” And now she’s looking at me with honest concern.

“I... really like... um... yes I agree,” I respond tactfully and so very suavely. “What did you... add to the water, that smells so nice?” I say diverting the topic away from my reaction to bathing with my my I’m in the bathtub with my sister and we’re both naked and it’s Rarity and oh no I’m blushing again. Stop it, face! Stop blushing and turning aside! Stupid face.

“Just some solemntree oil,” she says casually, still giving me a worried look. “It’s a wonderful, long lived tree whose essence is known to invigorate the mind, and calm the nerves.”

Does the bath water go inside your vagina when it’s under water? Oh my god why did I just think that?

A larger white hoof comes to rest on my chest underwater, making me look up again. “Sweetie, talk to me,” Rarity says imploringly, “Is there anything I can do that would ease whatever is on your mind? If an upsetting memory has come back to you, if you talk about it then you’ll surely feel better.”

I sigh huffily, a bit startled when Rarity’s hoof moves against my expanding and contracting chest. “I’m just...” I say trying to formulate my words coherently. “I didn’t... remember that we took baths together. I forgot that was okay. I don’t remember taking a bath with another p-pony, and I was kind of surprised and...

embarassed.”

I sneak a look at Rarity, and she’s got a gentle smile on her face, no longer a look of worry or concern. “Oh Sweetie, just think how wonderful that is,” she says, curling her hooves daintily under the water. “You get to learn the pleasure of a good intimate conversation over a nice hot bath all over again.”

I mean to retort, but then Rarity reaches out with a slight sloshing, and wraps a hoof around behind my neck. The water shifts and sloshes again as she physically pulls me right against her, shoulder to shoulder, our chests practically touching. She just holds me like that, giving a pleased ...whinny and resting her head atop my curls. I... I should be even more freaked out by this strong, confident heavy contact between us, but... somehow it’s just so much more relieving than being separate from each other with nothing but the most hesitant of light touches. And somehow my breathing evens out, and I close my eyes leaning against her, with a fluttering in my chest that aches so fondly.

Rarity remains in the tub during the afterbath, helping me soap up my hair while the water drains, and scrubbing me off in the places where I can’t reach (basically everywhere), and wrapping her beautiful magic around an extensible showerhead, expertly rinsing off the foam from hers and my mane, and her and my hindquarters and tail.

“Shouldn’t we soap up before the bath?” I ask at one point, and Rarity explains,

“Oh, you see the bath is intended to loosen the dirt on your coat, so a good long soak is very important to minimize the effort to clean off when you do apply your body products.”

And a laugh actually escapes me at that. I have to say Rarity is a lot more amazing than I had thought. She really has got it together in her life. I wonder how many of her silly follies have a good practical basis to them. And I feel a giddy sense of wonder at how different it is, that she has different things to deal with than humans do. That I have different things to deal with than humans. I have a short, but very present, coat of fur on my skin, a coat that needs soaking, and loosening, whereas a human wouldn’t have nearly as much trouble with dirt clumps and fur sticking together. As if our manes aren’t already excitingly alien enough, with its un-scaly, apparantly frictionless nature.

It’s just something I have never had a chance to feel before. Something truly different than any of my past experiences. I don’t think there’s anything more exhilirating than a new tactile experience. A way of touching you’ve never known just opens a wordless door in you, for a whole array of future sensations. A song you never heard before might change your entire paradigm, but a touch you’ve never felt before changes the way that you feel.

Rarity serves a tasty meal, of greens, greens, and more greens, and some kind of fried flapjack that isn’t soggy but instead has the tasty crunch of hay, all layered with a white cheese that faintly reminds me of the spice fenugreek. I should find three servings of greens to be offensive, as I was raised my whole life to have only one serving of greens, and if I serve any more it’s a rejected meal and a hoary eyeball for my troubles. But thankfully I’m open minded about these things, as well as too shell shocked to care, so I enjoy the sweet hearty broccoli, some thick stiff leaves that I don’t recognize, and what look like scattered pansies, technically purple and yellow, but still greens.

I eat what I can, but my stomach is just up in knots over this. I’ve been torn between frustrated horniness and despair all afternoon, and now my appreciation for this meal. My thoughts are confused, along the lines of I can’t sit here not saving Sweetie Belle. I wish I could enjoy these flowers more; it’s so novel to eat flowers. I wonder what it would feel like a stallion shoving his cock in me. I have to ask for help. I wonder if there are any poisonous flowers. But asking for help risks my life, and for the first time I have a life that I care about! If I lean forward more, I bet I could rub myself a bit on this stool. I need to tell her, but I need to... this food is really good.

In any different circumstances, I would be so lucky to have a body like mine, and to have a sister like her. I wonder how many chances I’m going to have left to tell her that, before she hates me for deceiving her and stealing away her sister.

“You’ve been so good to me,” I say, staring at my food with trepidation. “I don’t know how to thank you for... everything.”

“Dear, that’s what sisters are for,” Rarity says gently. “You’ll understand one–”

“I’m not–” I interrupt. But should I tell her? She’s still not figuring it out. It should be obvious though. I couldn’t even read. I have to tell her or, or I won’t know if she canhow to save Sweetie Belle.

“I’m... not...” I repeat miserably. I need to tell her, but I don’t want to tell her! I’m not Sweetie Belle. The words make me imagine staring down at a blade sticking out through my chest impaling me. Like a yawning steel-jaw trap. “I’m not...” I can do this I can I can’t do this. “...hungry.” I finish miserably.

“Sweetie Belle, is everything alright?” Rarity asks me with the most sincere of concern. I hate myself to pieces.

“Oh, I’m fine I just... I had way too much and and I’m just feeling sleepy... now̰̫” I try to sound confident, but I just trail off into a croak, trying to talk in words. And now my eyes are watering again. Damnit!

“If there is something the matter, then you’d tell me,” Rarity says. She doesn’t ask. She says. I try to agree with her, but I can’t even summon it in me to nod.

“I’m just sleepy,” I assert faintly, “I just want to go to bed.” And maybe there, I can... no, maybe I shouldn’t. I can’t be thinking about being pent up, when I’m busy being upset. That just isn’t how it works!

It’s with utmost reluctance that Rarity takes up my plate in her mouth, and walks away from the small table she has for dining in her kitchen. But she doesn’t protest, or call me out. Why doesn’t she suspect me already, and just get it over with? She just invites me up, and takes me through the evening routines, and the only useful thing I can do is try to refrain from attempting to pleasure myself by rubbing against her back. I could try using magic maybe, but...

I try with the toothbrush again, but I still can’t figure out how to ‘hold’ hold it, and Rarity doesn’t suggest using my horn, so I don’t even try it. I do watch her magic with fascination, trying to see some of that ...whatever it is the doctors were talking about. I can tell it’s moving about her horn in a certain way, and also appearing around the toothbrush handle, and thus distracting me with foamy toothpaste. Watching magic is sort of like watching someone else walk. You get to imagining yourself doing the same things, with the same things that you have and... I’m just not confident that I should try. They said it would be safe, but...

Well...

There’s a reason I would want to be Sweetie Belle more than Twilight or Lyra or anything, which is kind of rendered moot by Sweetie’s little magical accident that brought me here. I don’t actually... want to use magic. I’m not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, but when Rarity tucks me in again and, surrounded by the softness and safety of my new bed, I look out into the glimmering starlight, all I need is that reassurance that things are going to be okay, not any actual... control over my life. All I need to know is that those stars really are the wishes of a moon princess twinkling in the night, and not just depressingly distant, dead infernos of mindless destruction. I don’t need to have the stars at my command. I just need them to be there, and to be... nice.

So I don’t mind not... using magic for a while. I’ll be getting more magic than I want to deal with once I tell them about Sweetie Belle, anyway. First thing in the morning, I can tell her over breakfast when we’re all nice and calm.

I shift a little nervously. This bed sure feels nice. A rear hoof taps on another as I squirm my legs together, then at the thought of doing that, I spread them apart. I probably shouldn’t. But it’s been so long! I feel like I’m going crazy from all this tantalizing experience. Dr. Ace was so friggin... I feel a twinge between my legs, and I really, really want to touch that. Despite the fear of being hated for what I’m doing, I reach down with a front hoof and a soft sigh escapes me when I feel it press against myself. Even that fear loses its potency, as a pleasant feeling starts to spread from between my thighs, relaxing and easing my pent up frustration.

Being burrowed in soft bedclothes with the stars for company is even more pleasant with a hoof between my thighs. Oh sure, I should be appreciating the peace of this moment for its own merit, with a childlike innocence, but like it or not, my innocence was lost long ago, the day I discovered that those secret touches made these moments seem even more precious. It doesn’t take anything away is the thing. I’m still snuggled cozily in my bed, still feeling peaceful and serene, and the stars are still twinkling, and like the stroking of a penis, smushing the pad of my hoof against my unfamiliar labia just... I dunno... improves those experiences.

I lay there a while snug in my bed, decadently stroking at the little treasure that I somehow came into the possession of. I lay there in the darkness, listening to my slow breathing, taking in what must be my scent, and the lingering mysterious flowers of Rarity. I lay there listening to the soft slip of sheets, against young unicorn flesh as my pelvis pushes up automatically from the stimulation. I feel what must be lubrication, a sort of rushing warmth in me down there, barely distinct from the tingle of arousal. While that tingle of arousal is the same, the way it goes into me like a sort of dull pulse, and the fluttery sensation of what surely must be my inside parts, is a curious difference from the way I used to feel. I knew girls felt it differently, but I didn’t know it would be so... weird.

Some part of me worries how much of it is that I have become a girl now, and how much of it is becoming a horse. The way it makes the base of my tail twitch is one of those curious differences, for instance, and human girls sure don’t have that to think about that! Yet I can’t worry too much, feeling like this. Touching myself just muddles up my thoughts into a pleasant acceptance. It helps me not feel worried about how I’m going to tell Rarity tomorrow and ask for her help. I can’t even really comprehend how something that feels this nice might be wrong for Sweetie Belle. And even when the smiling face of Dr. Ace appears in my imagination, and makes me breathe harder and move against myself, it feels exciting more than off-putting.

There’s just one -little- problem with this. My hoof is getting tired. I mean, I’m tired in general. I’m not as mentally exhausted as yesterday, though given the bombshell about reading comprehension, I probably should be. I am a relatively young child, and I am very tired, but my hoof is tired in the achy sense. I’m just feeling increasingly uncomfortable from moving it around in this odd position for so long without ...progress. The humidity is clearly increasing down there, with what I imagine are my feminine petals growing slick along the pad of my hoof. But it just isn’t going any further than that.

I groan in frustration, not sure how to get these smooth generic strokes to ignite me into the orgasm I’ve been craving, ever since I came here. Letting my hoof rest at my side, I focus on the lingering twinges in my groin, trying to visualize just what I have down there, and what to do about it. And that’s how I fall asleep, not even realizing that I’ve done so until later, long into the night, when once again I begin to dream...

I race outside, eager to explore. Adventure is just around the corner! I gallop down the sidewalk animatedly. The rows and rows of quiet lifeless houses are a little scary and intimidating, but beyond them I’ll find something really cool. I tire quickly, and soon I’m just pacing steadily along. I squint and look ahead, but all I can see is the end of the road, where it turns to the right, houses blocking any view beyond that.

I reach where the road turns and look to my right, and hidden there, down that secret way that I could not see before is... a road, lined with silent houses. Oh well. I start walking down that road, looking for a way out of all these houses, to find something really cool. Maybe like a jungle, or a castle, or a– a portal to another world.

There’s an almost hidden little alleyway to my side, and I dodge out of the endless houses, skittering eagerly down the alley towards the call to adventure. Featureless 6 foot tall fences line the alley, walling it off from any of the houses or yards, so there’s only one way out, and when I get there it’s... a road, lined with silent houses.

I’m in my old kitchen then, feeling a long forgotten sense of dismay. Surely I’ll find something the next time, if I go in another direction. There has to be something besides all these houses, something really cool to explore. But now I just have to go to school and stand in line, and passively obey, and not leave the supervised areas for an entire week, before I’ll get another chance to explore.

The week is a blur, and I’m off again, exploring my neighborhood, walking down the other way this time, along rows and rows of silent houses. A car drives by occasionally. If there’s anyone inside it, they give no indictation. Then amazingly, I turn a corner, and there before me is a road, lined with ...silent houses. Sighing, I tiredly trot down that road, sure that the way to adventure has to be just on the other side.

Weeks pass, and I try a way I’ve never gone down before, walking slyly past it in case something wants to stop me from finding adventure, maybe those cars. Then I jump back and run down it, before they can replace the strange new realm I seek to explore, with– it leads right to a road, lined with silent houses. Next time, next time.

I don’t know if these houses are full or empty. I never see anyone come out of them or walk along the streets, except to get in their cars and drive away. They never talk to me or even acknowledge me, and I never see the same person twice. We’re all too busy with school and work to get to know each other.

Weeks pass, and I know these roads like the back of my tail. I’ve walked down every passage, explored every alleyway, tried every gate. I found the neighborhood park, which is a set of tennis courts and an open field of grass, with nothing concealed, and nothing to explore. But there is one road left that I haven’t tried, and since I’ve eliminated everything else, that has to be the way out! I weave through the maze of roads and houses, coming to that peculiar roadway that doesn’t seem to lead anywhere I’ve ever been before.

The way is still there. It hasn’t vanished overnight! I look down it nervously, as it appears to be just another road lined with silent houses, wondering if I should go. Wondering if I should risk the danger of an adventure, to seek out the unknown. But I know in my heart, that’s what I need to do, so I give a confident sly smile and trot down it, without any more hesitation. And finally, after all this time, it opens out into a road, lined with silent houses.

I know this road. It’s a road I’ve already walked down, many times. I just have to walk the long way along it, around the bend, and... yes. I’m right back at the entrance of the last way I went down. I know every way in my head now, and every way leads back to itself. I’m at my house, looking outside fearfully. I know I’ll never be able to explore in here. I already know this simple house of mine, like the back of my tail. But there’s nowhere to explore out there either! What am I supposed to do?

There’s no one to answer me, besides rows and rows of silent houses.

Years pass. I keep on seeking, but that doesn’t help. I give up on seeking, but that doesn’t help. I just don’t have anything better to do. There’s nothing to do on these streets, besides walk down them, step after step. There’s nothing to interact with, no one to talk to, nothing to explore. I just want to find the way out of this place, out of these roads, some place that I can explore, or... or someone who can help me, because I’m trapped here week after week, and there’s nothing I can do to save myself.

I never find anyone. Years pass. I stop avoiding it, and continue walking along the streets. I tell myself it’s for exercise. I tell myself I just want to see if I can meet anyone this time. I tell myself it’s better than sitting inside all day staring at the wall. I tell myself it’s a habit now, not anything I want to do, just something I do out of reflex. I know the truth is I want to explore, to have things to find and discover, to reach that special land that I know is just around the corner waiting for me to walk out into adventure, but I tell myself lies. It hurts too much hope for something around the corner, and see nothing but another road lined with silent houses.

I can’t even find my house anymore. They all just look alike. I just keep walking and walking. Rows of silent houses, rundown emotionless storefronts, giant warehouses full of cheap multinational goods, and where there isn’t houses, just open land. Biting thorns and dry scrub as far as the eye can see, and then desolate hills that were once covered in oak trees, but have since been converted to cow pastures. Hills that are farther than I’ve ever walked. I try to reach them once, but end up exhausted alongside the freeway, trudging lifelessly back towards town until I reach somewhere that I can rest at.

I walk through a beautiful forest, the air fresh and clear. I walk and walk, and I find forest, and more forest. The trees begin to look like roads lined with silent houses. No animals can be heard my entire life, just rows of silent trees. Later, a family member takes me halfway across the world, where I go out to explore, finding roads lined with silent houses. I try to give up. I try to stop looking. I try to tell myself there’s nothing to be found. I go outside to take a walk.

The road stretches endlessly before me. The silent houses remain unapproachable, full of strangers I’ve never seen or empty and locked. I’m getting tired, but I keep walking. I should turn around, but I keep walking. My skin is weathered and sagging from age. My mane is thin and grey. My hooves are cracked on the sidewalk, but what am I going to do, go back? There’s nothing for me back there, and there’s nothing for me ahead, but maybe, maybe just a little bit more.

I fall over, but I don’t want to stop. I feel like something is hounding me, like the silent houses have been following me all this time. I desperately crawl forward just trying to reach that one secret way that will lead me out of this. I can’t even walk anymore, just slide along the sidewalk like an invalid or a slug, again past the houses, to where the street turns right. I turn my head wearily to look around the corner.

It’s a road, lined with silent houses.

Princess Selena Luna, Defender of the Starry Gulf, Slayer of the Third Ring, Speaker of Demons and Heart of the Night woke up in a cold sweat, scrunched up her face and threw her hooves in the air, screaming,

“What is wrong with that child?!”

Euh, I should have posted this sooner.

I got distracted making a timeline of events so I wouldn’t stomp all over my references.

Also fimfiction

was kill.

Also it got too long.