The doctor pony leans toward Rarity, pensively asking, “Twilight, as in Twilight Sparkle?”
Rarity smiles tactfully at that, saying “Yes well, the news of that mare does get around, doesn’t it?”
“Especially around the hospital,” the doctor says with an eye roll, flat eared. “Did you know she herself helped stock the hospital library with texts on rare and bizarre magical ailments?”
“No she hadn’t mentioned,” Rarity hums offhan–offhoovedly. “That was nice of her, though she is technically a librarian.”
“No, you see Jm. Twilight Sparkle is the reason we needed a section on rare and bizarre magical ailments, in the first place,” the doctor reveals, making both of Rarity’s eyebrows raise. Doc peachy whose name I probably should know, being Sweetie Belle and all, adds as if in explanation, “It was after the Hearts and Hooves incident, in apology.” Rarity cringes again, showing nothing more than a silent wince.
“Relax, Miss,” the doctor says to Rarity, waving a hoof her way dismissively, “Nopony got hurt. The potion wore off after an hour of isolation. I just wanted you to know that if she is involved, we’re likely to take the situation very seriously.”
Wait...
“The potion?” I ask surprisedly, “Wasn’t that our fault?”
Rarity abruptly hugs me with one arm, jerking me against her entirely too tightly, “Oh Sweetie it’s wonderful you’re remembering things!” she says, speaking through closed teeth in a broad smile, “But I’m afraid you may be just a little mixed up, still.”
I look at her worriedly, then dawn in comprehension. “Oh! Yes,” I exclaim in extreme sincerity, “I must have um, been thinking about ...arts and crafts, yes. That silly memory of mine!”
“Still not sure how that much amoradoxin got into the water supply...” the doctor says in a puzzled tone, hanging up the clipboard on a nail on the wall. Looks like she isn’t particularly interested in the implications of what we’re saying at all. Obviously it’s because of our brilliant skills of subterfuge, and not the doctor just letting off steam without paying much attention to any responses.
“Anyway,” the doctor continues, facing me, “I think first I’ll have a look at your horn structure. That’s typically what gets damaged by a surge, if anything. I would like, however, to get the help of my colleague, in case there are any... surprises along the way. Could you wait a few more minutes?”
“Um, sure,” I say uncertainly. A doctor asking me if I can wait? This really was a magical land!
I sort of forget how excited I am about this amazing magical land, when the other doctor she brings in is a stallion. A really hot stallion.
You know that one movie actor with those clear bright eyes and that sharp hawklike visage who plays a doctor on television? No, not the bald one. It’s silly, because I never ever ever watch medical dramas, yet I can recall this mysterious man as clear as day. Perhaps I’m forming him completely out of a desperate imagination, taking the features that impact me all too deeply on the pony’s face, and constructing a false memory out of whole cloth, a human man for me to remember pining over wistfully on the silver screen, so that I don’t have to feel like I’m helpless to the urges of this body I’m in.
But whatever the case may be, that doctor pony looks just like him.
“Alright everypony,” he says walking in with the other doctor I’ll call her Blueberry Peaches until I figure out her real name. Unlike her tongue depressor cutie mark, he has what looks like an oscilloscope on his butt. I guess I should be paying attention to everyone’s cutie marks if I want to recognize them in the future. If I have a future. Anyway, he says “Alright everypony, I’m Doctor Checker, and Dr. Care here says we have a potentially difficult alicornoscopy to accomplish here.”
“He means checking your horn,” Dr. Care, my doctor that is, says to me helpfully.
“Your doctor will perform the exam,” Dr. Checker goes on, “I’ll just be providing a simple monitoring field, and potentially intervening if something goes awry. I’ve never in my years had anything go awry, to let you know, but I’m happy to provide Dr. Care with some... moral support.” He winks at her, and she elbows him in the chest.
“Alright then, if you can just hold still a moment...” Dr. Care says to me, then gestures to her gradutate fellow, “Doctor, if you would?”
The teal light casts off his horn, like a fishing net, except three dimensionally. It expands into a sphere, traced throughout with thin gridlines in roughly cubical shapes. It feels... different, but very subtle. He’s not putting very much power into it at all, so I can’t really tell what it’s doing in the area that encompasses us. Monitoring, obviously.
“Now hold still, dearie,” Dr. Care says, getting my attention and she reaches up to lay a hoof across my horn. It feels kind of like... someone laying a hoof on your elbow, except it feels more important because it’s your horn. If that makes any sense. I can feel the light pressure she applies, even in my skull a bit. I try to follow along, but all I can see up there is the edges of my generously bouncy tresses getting pushed around. The doctor is on two legs now, and reaches with the other front hoof to my forehead. Gently, bracing my horn with her one hoof, she gives it a little tap with the other.
That’s it, just a physical tap. It sort of echoes into me like before, and I guess it’s what she wanted because she doesn’t murmur or write down anything worriedly. She taps it again, from another angle, while I try not to squirm at the odd feeling of vulnerability. After that, she pulls back from looming over me so much, and presses the pad of her hoof down against the blunt tip, on the end of my horn. At least, I think she does, because I can feel inward pressure on my forehead there, and that’s where her hoof is. I can only feel contact on the tip of my horn distantly though. Sort of like feeling a baseball bat hit a baseball.
“I want you to tilt your head up against my hoof, as much as you’re comfortable,” Dr. Care tells me gently, “Stop the moment you feel any discomfort or pain.” I do as she says, looking past her at the male doctor, who’s still standing there with his horn all aglow, a bored expression on his face. I hope I’m not boring him. I can’t believe he sees me like this. It makes my cheeks flush hot at the thought. I’d let him touch my horn any day...
“Alright,” Dr. Care says clearly, breaking me out of my totally not moongazing, “Now I need you to tilt your head down against my hoof, as much as you’re comfortable.” So I reverse the direction I’m pushing against her hoof. Not that I can move my head, with my horn caught like that, but I do attempt to tilt my head down. As before, I don’t feel anything other than a gentle pressure holding me back, and I can’t really put more muscle into it without really straining. And that would be discomfort, for my neck muscles!
Dr. Care leaves me be then, removing her hooves while I wobble in place to keep myself upright without her presence. She pauses to pay attention to my chart, scratching down information on it. I pointedly face away from the ...other doctor, not wanting to see if he’s looking at me, and I know he’s not, but if he is...! Maybe a quick sneak peek oh, no he’s looking at Dr. Care. Not that I want his attention! I’m just thinking if he might give me it—you know—just the possibility.
“Well, your horn seems physically sound,” Dr. Care says, drawing my attention again. “No fractures or tears. Really, I wouldn’t expect such though, but it’s still important to check before the alicornosc–the horn exam.”
“I get what you mean by alicornoscopy,” I tell her, trying to appear helpful, “But I’m confused how could you stick a camera—a scope, down my horn?”
“What on earth is a camer-o-scope?” Dr. Care asks me with an amused smile. “No I’m just going to do this, if you can just relax. It might feel a little weird, but again, let me know if you feel any pain or discomfort.”
She lights her horn up and stretches forward, tilting her head down to touch hers to the dinky little one on my head, just a brief tap. There’s no ambiguity that she’s touching my horn this time though, because I can feel her magic rush down it like a waterfall. The light has a force to it, a substance without substance, and it enters me so easily up there it... it kind of tickles. When she pulls back from me, her horn pulls me with it somehow. Not like, me me, but like my sense of where I am. Proprio...something. Proprioception. God damnit I am a dictionary, aren’t I.
I stare in bafflement, as a complex shape unfolds in front of my eyes, except my eyes don’t feel like they’re in front of me. It’s not a net, like the stallion doctor cast out, but a shifting kaleidoscope of geometric patterns, twisting lines and sworls, glowing in their own transparent celadon light. It looks like a... kind of like a flower.
“Well, if that isn’t a tangled pattern,” Dr. Care remarks disapprovingly looking at me... at my... thingy.
“What do you mean?” I ask, surprised that I can still speak with my mouth.
“Well, your anterior lobes are clearly stressed. You can see their extension is all the way past 45 degrees,” she explained indicating some petal-like flappy things that... I really can’t differentiate from the rest of the ...structure. “And your caudal fronds are looking very frayed,” she points out some wispy things, “See how they’re getting all tangled up? You definitely had an alicorn cascade, that much is clear. Your loophole vent is blown wide open. And it looks like there might be a kink in your...”
The doctor’s horn lit up as she had been speaking, and I try not to panic as her blue magic comes to contact with mine, certainly not knowing what to expect. It feels like something sliding around in my head, like a cluster headache that tickles instead of hurts. When she gets to the part about the kink though, my vision dims, and a rush of dizziness comes over me.
“Sorry about that, Sweetie,” the doctor says to me with an embarassed smile. “I think you might have a bent spire. Has your magic been acting unexpected, since your surge?”
Well, um... does she mean unexpected for Sweetie Belle? I sure as hell never expected to be a magical unicorn, myself! I say, feeling unsatisfied with my own answer, “I wasn’t good at magic, before this, I think. So I don’t really know if it’s strange. Is my magic acting unexpected, Rarity?” I look away from the doctor and address my–Sweetie Belle’s sister, figuring the answer of a simple ‘yes’ might be too hasty of me to say.
“Yes,” Rarity says, “But we’ve been playing it safe, so there was only one incident with a bench. Is it terribly serious?”
“Well, I can set it now,” Dr. Care replies looking at me, “But, you might lose consciousness. It can be very disorienting. And it’ll be a while before you’re up to speed again, but at least you won’t be blowing yourself up or anything.”
The male doctor speaks up then, saying from across the room, “You should double check for other issues before going forward with that.”
“Of course, doctor,” Dr. Care says, unable to hold back a small blush. Is... does she have the hots for him? I mean, not that I blame her. Are they together? Two doctors in a relationship? That would be so roma—so kickass! Yeah, that’s totally what I meant to think. Kickass. Football!
Dr. Care has a lot of other confusing terms for my “pattern” or whatever you call it. “Is this my brain?” I ask her at one point and she laughs immediately, saying,
“Oh, you could say so. It’s a manifestation of your magic, in a visual form that I can see and manipulate.”
So, that’s what she’s messing with, and I still have no clue other than “it’s magic.” She finds a lot of negative things to say about it, or at least non-positive things, but none of them seem to qualify as serious concerns, outside of that bent ‘spire’.
“What’s a spire?” I ask her, then add quickly, “What’s a spire for?”
“Your resonance spires are very important!” the doctor said in a tone like she was lecturing a child, which she was, experientially speaking at least. “They normally exist in the groove of your horn, acting as sort of feelers to reach out into the aether and funnel all that magic right into your spells. Though the one I am going to fix is a transmission spire, which sends the magic out again. The thing is, if it’s bent, it can send the magic right back into you, and just keep building up that way. I’m just going to straighten it out, but it will be a little bit uh... floppy for a while afterwards, so you still might have some fizzles until it sets.”
“Is that why I had a horn uh–alicorn cascade?” I ask curiously. “My transmission spires were bent?”
The doctor runs a hoof through her mane... somehow, saying “Nopony really understands the underlying causes of the alicorn cascade. Despite its name, it has a physiological origin beyond that of the horn, and has more to do with life force than aether channeling. A transmission spire shorting out might make a sudden explosion, but the horn surge itself is a different thing entirely. Some ponies think it’s the body’s way of naturally relieving blockages in one’s mana flow.”
She smiles at me approvingly, “I’ve suspected such a blockage in you for a while now, Sweetie Belle, and I’m glad to see you’ve managed to get through it. You should have a much easier time with your magic from now on.”
“After you fix it,” I correct her, crossing my eyes again trying to better see what I cannot comprehend, yet somehow embody.
She nods, “That’s true enough. Now, you feel um, this?” flaring up her magic, and boy do I. It’s like a million cellos playing underwater.
“That’s... really weird,” I say dizzily.
“Alright, I’m going to straighten it out now,” she coos reassuringly, “I’ll make it quick, so I want you to close your eyes and just try to relax. It’ll be over before you know it.”
“Okay,” I say closing my eyes, and trying not to fret, or shake with fear. You don’t tell the kid to get ready for a shot! You just do it while they’re distracted! She’s totally doing it all wrong, and all she’s going to do is scare me. I don’t like being touched there! It feels all wrong and stiff and xpqlgpxm
...I realize I’m laying on my back again, and open my eyes to see the ceiling of the hospital room. Struggling to my elbows, I cross my eyes and look up, and whatever ‘pattern’ she pulled out of me is gone now, no longer floating in front of my head. Yet I can still sort of feel it, but less in the sense that it’s literally out in front of me being poked and prodded by another unicorn’s magic, and more in the sense that I can feel my own horn, in a way that I had no comprehension about before. Also in the hospital room is Rarity I see in front of me, and Dr. Care, and her boyfriend or should I say special somepony? I blink at the three of them.
“How long was I out?” I ask curiously. Rarity smiles brightly, and answers,
“Oh, it was just a few minutes, dear! Did it feel like a long time?”
“I... guess so,” I say uncertainly. “Am I alright now?”
“Right as rain!” the doctor says cheerfully. “Of course you’ll want to let me know immediately if you have any aberrant hexes or spontaneous spellcasting.”
She adds much more gravely, “And then there’s the matter of your amnesia.”
I gulp out, “Oh?” with a weak smile.
“That was a very foolish thing you did,” Dr. Care says looking me between the eyes. “I trust you’ve learned your lesson not to mess with old world artifacts anymore?”
“I’m not–” I squeak meekly, then say, “Wait, what?”
“If it’s buried, be wary. If it’s underground, leave it down,” the doctor reprimands. “You’ve apparently forgotten that, as well as everything else, from an extreme reaction to something that probably should have stayed buried.”
Her stern look broke into honest confusion then, and she asked, “Have you really lost all your memory?” in a bemused tone.
“I’m sorry, I... I’m sorry I didn’t... I... what?” I ask, trying to buy time for me to wrap my head around what the flying freaky fuck she just said. She’s not talking about me. That’s what it is. She’s just talking about what Sweetie Belle did, not anything about a human waking up in her body. I thought she was talking about me taking over Sweetie Belle, but she’s just reprimanding Sweetie for what she did, herself.
“Amnesia means losing your memory,” Dr. Care explains patronizingly. “Your old memories, you either can’t reach, or they’re gone away. Is that what happened to you, dearie?”
I carefully nod, saying “Yes, that is pretty much exactly what happened.”
“Pretty much?” the doctor asks looking for clarification.
My heart beats a little faster and I say, “I can remember some things, but only a little bit, and it’s mostly random.” That’s truthful at least, if not admitting the true origin of those memories.
“Oh, well that goes without saying,” the doctor says rolling her eyes and waving a hoof dismissively. “It still counts as amnesia, even if you only lose a few memories. But it’s just so rare to find a pony who really couldn’t remember so much of her life. It’s a good thing you’re so young!” She laughs heartily, but stops laughing at my look of dismay, saying, “Oh, dear, I don’t think it’s a good thing, not by far. You... you’ll probably begin recovering your memories any day now! Just try to surround yourself with familiar things, and... well, I wish there was more I could do for you. Your sister’s right, though.”
“Nopony should be messing around in your brain,” the doctor says resolutely. “Especially not after something already did. Some ponies need brain surgery, but only the ones with nothing left to lose, and with the most obvious conditions, such as terrible seizures or brain swelling. It’s no wonder you were worried, if you thought we were going to scoop out your brains or something! But you’ll be relieved and possibly dismayed to know that the best treatment for an affliction such as yours, is nothing other than bed rest, and rebuilding your life as best as you can.”
“What I am going to do,” the doctor adds, “Is give you a passive brain scan. But I’ll wager there’s no swelling going on, internal bleeding, or abnormal activity that could lead to seizures. I promise you don’t have to worry. It’s just to be very sure that what’s going on in your head isn’t anything life threatening.”
Well, what’s going on in my head might not be life threatening, but a brain scan definitely could be. So I put the doctor in a sleeper hold, and use the ensuing confusion to escape through a roof hatch. There, the spy chopper is waiting to pick me up and take me back to human central where we plot the infiltration and overthrow of our pony overlords. So no, really I just droop my head and say, “Okay that sounds fine,” and don’t do anything else, while she leaves the room to prepare the scanner.
It turns out there’s a rather elaborate machine, in a room of its own, for brain scans. It takes a unicorn’s magic, Dr. Care’s blue light slipping into the intricate grooves in the metal to light them up like Tron or something, but there are also two earth pony nurses over there, working at... something to operate it. My own head is enwreathed in a convoluted metal mesh helmet, covered in lights that are entirely too colorful for their own good. And additionally, the whole thing seems to be ...steam powered?
“Alright,” the doctor says at last, pulling out the cords attached to the podium I’m standing on... with her teeth. “Now I would like you to please wait in the waiting room,” she says, “And let me talk with the technicians about your results.”
I would say that it’s the longest wait of my entire life, but it really doesn’t take that long. As much as I wish it would. I sit there in silence, on one of the plush couches, in a lupine position. While I sit flat on my belly, Rarity lounges on the one next to me almost bipedally, leaning against the wall with her hind legs crossed daintily. I feel like I should say something, but I don’t know if I should. Finally I just say, “Rarity, um, sister I just...”
Rarity looks at me expectantly and I have no idea what I was going to tell her. I just want to say something before it’s too late, just one more time. I look back at her miserably, and she says,
“Yes? What is it, Sweetie?”
Now I’m blushing. Good grief can’t I even say a simple something to help anything? “Thank you,” I tell her. Thank you! Yes! That’s something to say! “I mean, thank you for helping me,” I say more lucidly. “You’ve been helping me all this time, and it’s been really really...” I can’t even find the word for how great it’s been. “...nice,” I finish feeling unsatisfied with it. What to say though?
“I just want to let you know that I... really do appreciate it, and it means so much to me,” I continue. And now I’m not blushing anymore, but my chest is wavering and I have to sniffle adorably. I feel so little in control of myself, of anything and everything. “Even if I...” I manage to say. “Even if I don’t...” I whisper, but I can’t go any further than that. She’d know if I told her how grateful I was just to meet her, and she’d suspect and she’d hate me. Even though it doesn’t even matter anymore whether I confess or not, I just can’t do that to her. Not by myself. Not her.
Rarity quietly wraps me up in a hug. It’s a shock, not just from her plush warmth, but from how deeply it cuts at my distress. My tension just drains away, cradled in her tender embrace, and the fear that gripped me not seconds ago already feels so distant and... manageable.
“I don’t nearly understand what you’re going through, Sweetie Belle,” Rarity murmurs in my ears, and in her chest against me. “But I will always be there for you, no matter what happens. It’s what sisters do. We have a connection between each other, that will always bring us together.”
And I know she’s trying to comfort me, but I just close out her words. My eyes close and my ears fold tightly back, and I just try to focus on the feel of her against me. I ignore her words and just try to listen to the comforting sound of them. I try not to focus on how close her hug brings her to me, especially the way she situates me between her legs, where my tail is pressed up against... something very improper that I don’t want to look at, much less think about. Damnit why did I think about it? Now I can’t stop paying attention to it. Of course she has ...one of those. Of course she’s buck naked. Of course she’s not giving a fuck about it. Freaking nudists, I am so jealous of them.
The doctor returns presently, with some very colorful diagrams. They are pictures of a brain, it seems, though with many...sort of... extensions and “clouds” outside its border. Which is what I am, I guess. Maybe I’m like a ghost?
“Well, there’s good news Sweetie Belle,” the doctor starts to say. “Firstly, there is no swelling, nor is there any signs of the hyperconnections associated with a seizure. Furthermore, your neurochemical levels are quite stable, albeit somewhat low in serotonin. Your ambient corona is well seated, and your pony residual is fully connective.”
“There is,” she admits, “A little bad news, but that’s actually good news because, if it’s something we can detect, then it’s something we can fix. Your motor complex here really explains why you’re having trouble walking. It’s quite mixed up, and if I didn’t miss my guess you’d be feeling like you were sideways all the time, even just trying to walk around. And your hippocampus here has definitely suffered some damage, which might affect memory formation, but it’s clearly on the mend already.
“What that does indicate though,” she taps a hoof on the image of my hippocampus, “Is something may have directly accessed your aural self, to a large degree, which could indicate many things by itself, but considering your symptoms it well explains your amnesia. Why an ancient device would attack your self image, I couldn’t tell you, but again I think the best we can do is try to recover from what has happened, and not worry about reaching where you were in the past. There are many roads to recovery, and the road back is rarely the one you want to be on.”
I nod silently, looking at her expectantly. She looks back at me. Then she glances at Rarity uneasily, and says less confidently, looking between us both, “W-well and... that’s about it. Not a single thing wrong with her, other than that!”
“That’s it?!” I exclaim. Without thinking. Dammit.
“What were you expecting, some kind of brain disease?” Rarity says to me dryly. “You should be happy that there’s nothing else wrong with you!”
“I am!” I say, fishmouthing. “I. I am but. I mean.”
“Anyway,” the doctor says giving me a less than impressed look, “Her motor complex should reseat itself eventually, but there is the possibility that it will heal crooked, so I think we need to take a more proactive approach, just to be sure.”
Rarity seems taken aback herself, saying “Yes, but... what sort of cast would you put on a... a mind pattern?”
The doctor laughs at that. “No, no I didn’t mean that. I was just thinking Sweetie Belle here could seriously benefit from a full course of physical therapy.”
“Physical therapy?!” I exclaim in relief. “You mean I just need to practice walking, and it’ll get better?”
“With the help of a physical therapist,” the doctor qualifies. “They can advise you what to do for your specific needs, and analyze anything in your movements that might be wrong.”
“That would be gre҉at!” I agree. My smile drops and I say a bit more distantly, “That would be... great.” I’m really glad Rarity is still hugging me. I don’t even care if her cooch is smooching me, and it really isn’t I’m just flipping out over nothing. I just don’t know what I would feel, if I wasn’t securely in Rarity’s lap right now. Or, securely on the cushion, with her legs on either side of me. She doesn’t actually have a lap, but the way she’s cuddling me against her sort of feels intuitively like a lap. I should feel worse about this, but I don’t really know what to say. Was all this worry and fear I had just... totally unnecessary? They didn’t... they couldn’t find anything? (They couldn’t find Sweetie Belle?)
“I can set you up with one soon as tomorrow,” Dr. Care says with a helpful smile. “Our staff are very capable, and we’re always there for ponies in need. Tonight though, I think it’s best if you just get some bed rest. You’ve got a place to stay in Ponyville, right?”
“She’s sleeping at my boutique,” Rarity explains, “Carousel Boutique, you may have heard of it?”
Dr. Care brightens, saying, “Oh yes, some of my friends speak very highly of it. I’m married to my work unfortunately, so haven’t had much need for any sort of formal wear.”
“At the risk of sounding like drumming up business,” Rarity tells her, “I think you should come down sometime. Not all dress need be formal, some can be quite fun and invigorating! As a family friend you’re always welcome any time.”
Dr. Care raises an eyebrow but says, “Sure, I’ll keep it in mind. But for now, you both need to get some sleep.”
Rarity nods, and stands from her cushion, depositing me in front of her. She helps me up onto her back again and says to the pediatrician, “Thank you again for all your hard work, doctor. I knew the moment something was amiss, that you would be the one to make everything better again!”
Dr. Care blushes peachily at that, and hides her nose under her clipboard. (It’s adorable.) “Don’t mention it,” she says bashfully. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to finish cleaning up for the day.”
I can hardly believe it, as we walk out of the hospital, that the doorway is passing me by, and the great open outdoors is once again embracing me, this time wreathed in curtains of stars. I feel lost, and saved at the same time, worried and relieved. I was so sure they were going to figure it out, but now the power is in my hands again. Hooves, I mean. Not even the brain scan identified me as anything other than just... Sweetie Belle, with a mental problem! That means I am well and truly safe from detection! It means... does it mean I am Sweetie Belle? Maybe I would have been detected, if I was real, but... but I’m just being delusional? How could an 8 year old dream up something like this?!
The sky overhead is beyond incredible. The stars above aren’t just a few twinkling lights in an orange haze, but a shower of lights on a deep darkness. I try to think of my options now, and strategies, but I just find myself captivated by the sight of the star field. They’re so profuse that they have a texture to them... a density. A pattern. I haven’t seen a sky like this in a long time. I always had to live with city lighting, and well-lit streets. Another one of those caveats; you gain something good, and it takes away something vital. You either stumble through the streets, or you don’t get to see the stars. Nobody can make just enough street lighting, it’s either all-in or all-out. You either allow people to ruin your beautiful night, or you take away their freedom and cast them into servitude, just to get them to turn out those lights.
Or, you go the magical way of Ponyville, and have a small community, with little impact on the environment, and barely adequate, but not impressive street lighting... and you get to see the night sky.
The streets of Ponyville have cleared of ponies. Not many at all are walking around, this time of night. It seems later than it should be, with Luna’s moon high in the sky, and all the twinkling stars enveloping us. Rarity is silent, probably tired from a long day, but I’m wide awake, staring around at everything there is to see. Even the stillness is fascinating, the mysterious glow of lanterns I can’t figure out, the darkened arches and eaves whose careful construction belies a subtle skill that a medieval world could not achieve. The occasional light on in the foggy windows, where silhouettes can sometimes be seen, ponies moving around in there, and embracing each other and...
Oh. Uh, wow. I don’t think I was supposed to see that.
We have to walk across a good amount of the town, to reach Rarity’s boutique. I’m tempted to ask why I’m not going to stay with my parents, but I figure they must just be on vacation again, or something. Plus I’m not under any circumstances going to jynx what might be my only chance to sleep in Carousel Boutique! I stare at the round building as we approach it, both familiar and unknown. It looms high over both of us darkly, as we approach the front door. There, Rarity gives a satisfied sigh, and from her everpresent saddlebags draws a thin ring of keys. With them levitating in her magic, she unlocks the door with a satisfying click, and tugs on the latch with her hoof, pushing the door open with the jangle of a bell, to reveal a woozy darkness inside. Another swift motion of her magic, and the lights click on, flooding the room with cheery brightness that makes me squint and lift a hoof to shade my eyes.
Into that, Rarity carries me. It’s a good thing she’s carrying me too, because even if I could walk, I would be too dumbstruck by the sight to do anything but sit there gaping like a toad. The spiral framed mirrors, the checkered tiles, the squat round tables covered in a yellow inlay, I see. The deep magenta curtains draping roundly from the ceiling, sectioning the room off and giving it the appearance of smallness, I see. The carousel motif baffling concealing their runners, with more of those spiral pole designs intermixed with diamonds and hearts. It’s her display room. It’s Rarity’s display room! This is the same place that Sapphire Shores and Photo Finish walked through. It’s the place the parasprites destroyed, where Rarity lost, and regained her reputation as a dressmaker, and where I—where Sweetie Belle produced her disastrous, sapphire bedazzled, best sister card.
It’s with a giddy excitement, that I finally get to see this room from every angle. I want to run around and look at everything. Oh, there’s a stairwell. I wonder where it leads. To her bedroom? There’s a door. Does that lead further into the boutique, or into the backyard? So exciting!
“Well, here we are at last, Sweetie Belle,” Rarity says relievedly, reminding me I’m actually riding on her, and not just panning around this room like a baby unicorn shaped boom camera. “And tomorrow, we can begin your rehabilitation!” she adds excitedly. “Doesn’t that just make you want to curl up in your bed, safe and sound?”
That... seems a little contradictory. “It makes me want to... jump on my bed safe and sound?” I ask with a less than sorry smile.
“Please, Sweetie,” Rarity sniffs, “Even I am utterly exhausted from this day’s affairs. There is no way you could retain any amount of energy yourself.”
“I had to stay still all day,” I point out. “You did all the running around for me!”
Rarity turns her head over her own back, and gives me a displeased look, turning forward again. “Be that as it may,” she says, “I am quite exhausted myself, and I’m sure you’ll drift right off if you just relax yourself, and I’m not leaving the lights on all night, so you have plenty of time to drift off to sleep.” Oh yeah, she’s good. Good thing I was planning on going to sleep all along, and she didn’t really have to say anything to me at all, because I’m a mature and capable adult, who never stays up past her bedtime!
“So, let’s see,” Rarity pontificates, “First you need your evening bath, that should be straightforward. I don’t suppose you’ll be able to brush your teeth... we’ll have to address that as soon as possible. Then finally, we’ll make sure your bed is all made. It is a week night, but you needn’t worry about that for now, I fear. You just get your bed rest and I’ll have breakfast all ready for you, and then we can see about getting you back on your hooves!”
Rarity glances at me, and admits reluctantly, “Less than... figuratively,” almost as if to herself.
“Rarity, you... don’t have to do all this for me,” I mumble guiltily, looking aside at her glance.
“Of course I don’t have to,” she says in a chastising tone, catching my attention, or at least my ears. “I want to. Sweetie. Helping another pony is one of life’s greatest pleasures,” Rarity explains, “You are in need, and I can provide it for you, simple as that!”
I’m tempted to correct her, that I most certainly am not in need of those things, but instead I just stay quiet. I know enough not to look this particular gift horse in the mouth. She takes me up that mysterious staircase, to a very purple and lavender bathroom, and there she multitasks, by having me brush my teeth, while filling the bathtub. I try to hold the toothbrush myself, but it’s just too small to wrap my whole hoof around effectively, and Rarity ends up just levitating it to foam up the paste in my mouth. Yet another thing I have to research, whether toothpaste in Equestria is safe.
The bath is wonderful, and doesn’t require nearly as much soap as my last one. Something interesting is that the bathroom has no toilet in it. The toilet is in a separate room entirely. Both rooms have a sink, but only a very basic one in the toilet room, with a hunk of bar soap and a place for storing toilet paper. The bathroom is dominated by the bathtub, and much more elaborately decorated, and there’s a sizeable sink underneath what looks like a mirrored medicine cabinet.
I manage not to have any sort of weird freakout episode this time, just from drying off on the fluffy towel. Within the half hour, I find myself gently placed by Rarity atop a bed adorned with sworled sheets of bright green. The diamond motif of the Boutique continues on the bed’s headboard, the diamond shape inset within a stylized heart. The pillow is a light salmon with various shades of blue hearts all over it.
The bed covers sort of... clash with the surrounding purple wallpaper, and the peculiar checkered columns. I suppose the colors work with the flooring though: a goldenrod yellow patterned tile that feels slightly stiffer than linoleum, in the design of large checkers. There’s also a huge daisy shaped rug on the floor right at the foot of my bed.
There’s a chest of drawers across the room from that foot, with a large, smooth mirror and a stool, presumably to get up to see the mirror. There’s also a literal chest, laying there open full of odds and ends, some papers, some deely boppers, a ball and a big cute stuffed pink bunny. There’s a simple looking writing desk, crafted whole it looks like, from a single piece of bluish wood. It’s a wood that doesn’t match any I’ve seen on Earth, certainly. Not that I’m an expert on Earth woods.
I suppose this is Sweetie Belle’s room. I try to drink it all in, paying far more attention than I would have while simply watching an episode. But once Rarity sets me down, I also try my best to get into bed and not woolgather too much. It’s difficult, between my lack of coordination, and my keen awareness that my sister is really picky about just how you get into bed without disturbing the covers. I manage to do okay, I suppose. My right hind hoof gets twisted up at one point, and I end up flipped over headfirst beneath the covers, but I manage to untwist it and squirm around, popping out and resting the back of my head against the springy pillow, using the way my little front legs curve down to smooth out the bedcover as best I can.
Rarity smiles at me, so I guess I’ve done right. Then, she walks to the side of my bed while I watch her, open eyed. Her hoof pulls up the covers tighter against me. “Good night, Sweetie Belle,” she says, kissing me on the forehead to the left of my horn. On her way out, her hoof taps a button of some sort on the wall, and with a click, the light overhead dies out before I can make out what’s generating it. As the door closes, I hear her clopping away, and her shadow pulls away from the light, from the hall under the door. The starlight begins to become prominent in the darkness now, in which I lay.
I’ve never... I don’t even remember ever being tucked in before. I touch my forehead with a hoof in the silence, almost uncomprehendingly. I must have been tucked in before sometime, because I know what being tucked in is, but... it must have stopped so early in my life, that I hadn’t formed solid memories yet. I can remember the first book I ever read, my 5th birthday Halloween costume, but ...not being tucked in. I think maybe I guess that means, this is the first time I’ve ever really been tucked into bed, whether 37 years old... or 8.
I feel excited, but also scared to move. I’m surrounded in plush softness, the soft mattress beneath me, the cool sheets against my body, my head sinking into the lush pillow behind me. I don’t want to ruin it. Like if I move too much then I’ll wake up for real, and this pony life will be a human one again, and my soft pillow will be replaced by neck pain, and my cool, even breathing in the night will be replaced with perpetual congestion and bleary eyed redness, and...
I huff, frustated at my own inhibition, and that breaks the paralysis. I roll to my side, facing the window, looking at the tapestry of stars outside. I can’t believe I’m here in a real Equestria, and there’s a warm bed waiting for me, and I really am a pony, and not just any pony, but Sweetie Belle! I feel so delicate, so... beautiful in a way. I can’t help but feel like that, because of who I’ve become. There’s no rough and tumble in me, no farm filly or daredevil. Sweetie Belle hangs with those two and survives, so has a powerful strength beneath that adorable exterior, but that means I have that exterior. It’s a feeling I’ve never had before. I never ever judge people for things they can’t change about themselves, for shallow standards of fitness and beauty that bear very little basis in reality. And yet... I can’t help but feel beautiful, like this. It’s not as euphoric as much as it is confusing, but... I do feel beautiful like this.
It occurs to me then, that this is the first time since that ride on the cart, that I’ve had some time all to myself. I’m all alone in this room. Nobody watching me, nobody to worry about judging me. Nobody keeping me in line, if my hands, or hooves stray to... forbidden places. I squeeze my legs together, clutching the blanket and squeezing my eyes shut. Why did I have to start thinking about that? Of course I know very well that this is exactly what I do every night, all alone in the privacy and solitude of my bed. There’s almost no nights where I don’t do it!
And, every night that I’ve seen since coming here, I’ve been totally passed out the whole time! I mean, that’s sort of the point of sleeping, but now I realize that I’ve never had to deal with falling asleep before, and dealing with what I usually do before falling asleep. I can’t do that now, though. It would be wrong of me! For reasons listed previously. Even though most of those reasons are completely moot, if I really am Sweetie Belle and just thought up the crazy delusion of being a brony.
But no, I can’t just get off like this, explore that delightful treasure between my legs, or try to figure out how different it is from orgasm as a man. I’m freaking eight! I shouldn’t even be thinking about this! I shouldn’t be so unbelievably curious whether I could even do it at this age, or as a pony. All I would have to do is just... reach down there and try it out, it wouldn’t be too much–no, no I cannot let myself fall to temptation! I’ll just ignore that itch between my thighs, close my eyes, and go to sleep.
No one would ever know.
Biting my lower lip and reaching down there just to... just to you know—not really doing anything—just that this is my chance, and I really want it, and how else am I going to get to sleep? That’s my train of thought, at any rate. It’s a very jumbled up train of thought, full of flaky logic and frantic rationalizing, and about three days of pent up sexual frustration. The closer I get to touching myself, exploring myself, the less strange and forbidden it seems. It’s just my body, right? It’s not my body, but it’s currently my body, and it’s only natural for a body like this to have feelings like that. There is nothing wrong with little girls exploring their own bodies, and even finding pleasure, and even o-orgasm, as long as they don’t get knocked up or anything. As long as I don’t get knocked up or anything.
That’s really what does me in, is the thought that, there inside those hips of mine, I have a quiescent, immature, unproductive organ that really isn’t very much to speak of, but one day it will blossom into a powerful machine, a factory capable of incredible production. I have a goddamn womb in my lower body. It could one day wrap around and nurture a little baby pony, growing from a tiny cell to a foal swelling up my belly. Not some other chick’s belly, that I can only look at from the outside, but my belly. If... if this continues forever, then one day there could be a life inside me, moving in me!
So with an unsatisfied, resigned groan, I finally slip my hoof in between my legs and, shivering in anticipation, bring it down to touch myself. I spread my legs apart to accomodate, and warily lay the frog of my hoof against the soft mound in-between my legs. It feels... very familiar, yet totally alien from what I’m used to. The soft pad of my hoof presses up against what I feel are sensitive folds of skin, pressed together to form a neat slit. My teats are still down there, but they’re not what I’m touching right now. My teats are veritably innocent as elbows, compared to what I’m touching right now.
The familiarity I feel is in that warm, welcoming tingle, the one that comes when I press against the mound and move my hoof around reservedly. It’s not like I’m just wiping off anymore. It’s the same tingle that has always calmed me down, and makes me feel like this is no big deal. I know it means I’m stimulating myself sexually, and that I’m doing it in order to grow erect, and lose myself in the drive for ejaculation. Just like I’ve had to do every night for most of my life.
The alien unfamiliarity is in how simple I feel down there. There is no penis, no testicles dangling below, just a smooth curve. Touching myself like this, I expect to feel the stirring of the scrotum, moving the balls around, the eager clenches in the base of my penis, making the tissue balloon outward with each tingle driven flex. And I simply have none of that, for anything to happen! Not anything I’m familiar with, at any rate.
Because I do feel something stirring, the location of which I can’t pin down, and I feel something swelling and ‘ballooning’ up. Yet nothing’s happening outside me; it’s right up against me, instead of sticking out of me like a... like the penis I don’t have anymore. My whole body is feeling like it’s ballooning up, really. The more I rub myself, the harder it is to relax, a tension making me feel thick and very sensitive. The sheets feel softer somehow, nicer against me. I would love to hug someone like this. I wonder if I’m blushing—I bet I’m blushing. I’m just swimming in these pleasant feelings, the tingling stimulation that I know brings you to orgasm.
Have you ever fallen asleep while pleasuring yourself? I wish I could say this was the first time. I don’t even notice when I drift off, or when my hoof goes limp against my groin. My mind is just dazing along in the pleasure and contemplating orgasm, with a dread much reduced by that overpowering feeling of comfort and hope, and then... I’m dead to the world, completely fast asleep.
Swing and a miss!
Jm. is pronounced sort of like ‘gem’
