My mother’s face drains of all color at the sight of my ears and tail. “Percy,” she breathes. “Oh my god, what happened?”
“I don’t know,” I whimper. My eyes sting, and I blink away the threat of tears. “It just- I don’t know. It just started happening and now it’s…”
“It’s okay, baby,” she says, quick to rise. She moves to the nightstand, reaching for her phone. “We can just call urgent care and-”
I’m all too aware of the way my ears swivel back. “No,” I beg, voice quavering. “No, I don’t- I can’t.”
The thought of going to the doctor’s rockets me back to the near-constant visits with specialists, each of them trying answer my mother’s burning, fearful question- why I wasn’t like the other kids. She wanted to know why the loud noises hurt me- why I wouldn’t look at her when she talked, why my words never came out right. I think about the hospital, and I think about session after endless session of being prompted and stared at, every little movement and word I said jotted down, while I wondered what I’d done wrong and how I could fix it.
Of course, I didn’t know what they were doing- didn’t know that they were just trying to help. There was no way I could have. They don’t teach seven-year-olds that they might be born different, and they sure as hell don’t teach seven-year-olds that the other kids will know you’re different before you even have a name for what’s wrong with you.
I don’t want that again. I can’t do that again. I don’t want the hours of confusion, the burning stares, the judgmental gazes. I don’t want to give them another reason to put me under a microscope.
“No?” Mom echoes, voice careful and quiet. Her hand hovers over the cell.
“I… I don’t know how the hospital can fix this,” I mumble, voice as small as I feel. My tail slides between my legs. “This is… look at me.”
She looks me up and down, frowning. “What would you rather we do, then?” she asks.
I chew the inside of my cheek. “I don’t know. I just. I needed you to know.”
A nod. “Do you feel sick at all?” she asks. She presses the back of her hand against my forehead, searching for a fever.
“No, I feel fine.”
Her brow quirks. “Totally fine?”
Another nod. I don’t blame her surprise. I would have expected some discomfort to come with these changes, but aside from the slight strangeness I felt wearing the beanie over my new ears… nothing. My ears just feel like ears- only higher. And the tail? Sure, it’s weird to look down and see it attached to me, but as far I’m concerned, it feels like it’s always been there. Now that I’m over the initial shock of it, they feel like any other part of my body. I can’t say I’m annoyed my body feels so used to it, though. I’d rather be strangely comfortable than in pain.
“Well,” she says at last, “doctor or not, I’m certainly not making you work looking like that.”
I almost protest, outrage flaring in my chest. I know she’s right- I can’t work the register and stock shelves without people seeing me and my uh, situation, but aside from D&D, working is the only thing I do. Now I can’t even do the one thing that makes me contribute around here? The one thing that makes me feel like a normal human being? I look down at the floor, sighing. “Yeah. I should probably… I don’t know… rest, or something?” I weakly suggest. What else can I do? There’s no easily googleable treatment for growing horse parts. Wryly, I wonder what my middle school nurse might have done in this situation. A packet of crackers and a plastic cup of ginger ale doesn’t seem like it’ll fix this.
“Rest won’t hurt,” my mother agrees. “Take it easy for now. Don’t move too much.” Her brows meet above her nose, her already concerned voice dipping even deeper into Mother Mode. “Are you hungry? I could make you something.”
I shake my head. “I’m not hungry.”
“I figured,” she mumbles, shoulders slumping. “Just… let me know if you need anything, okay?”
“I will,” I reassure. “I promise.”
It takes all my strength to walk away. I want to run to her, to hug my mother and cry like I fell down at the playground and need her to kiss my scrape better. But I’m not a helpless little baby anymore. I haven’t been for a long time.
And yet, when I turn to head to my room, my vision of the hallway blurs with my tears.
I collapse onto my bed facefirst, my pillow soaking up my budding sadness. I groan in frustration into the pillow, the anguished, aggravated sound muffled by cloth fabric and memory foam.
Finished releasing my frustration, I turn over and pull the covers over myself, obscuring my new tail from view. I squirm this way and that, trying to find a comfortable position. I try lying on my back first, but my tail immediately protests, a wave of claustrophobia surging through me. I try my side instead, but that only serves to rub my pony ear awkwardly against my pillow. I’m only somewhat comfortable when I lie on my stomach, my face aimed forward toward the headboard so I can still breathe.
Ugh.
A soft ‘mrrrp?’ fills the air, alerting me to Winslow’s presence. I must not have shut the door behind me all the way. His collar jingles, and he leaps onto the bed, padding up beside me.
“Hey, Winny,” I mumble. Turning in bed, I reach out my hand for the feline, and he responds by bumping the top of his head against my palm. My fingers trace lines through his fur, traveling down his neck to stroke his back while he purrs.
Grimly, I wonder how much longer I might have fingers. If I have pony ears and a tail now, who’s to say it’ll stop there? What if I grow fur? What if my hands a feet become hooves? What if the changes keep going until I’m 100% equine?
But what kind of horse has blue hair, especially one in…. a… bowl cut…?
My thought stumbles awkwardly past the finish line. I stop petting Winslow and snatch my phone off my bedside table, opening up Google. I know exactly what kind of horse has blue hair. Rather, I know what kind of pony.
‘Mlp fim blue hair gray fur’.
Search.
…
Nothing.
… okay, how about ‘Mlp fim blue hair gray fur bowl cut’?
Search.
… still nothing.
I grumble. Alright, let’s just go to the wiki then. They’ve got to have a list of ponies there I can check. One look at the site confirms as much. Unfortunately for me, however, there’s no single list to check. They’re sorted by pony type- earth pony, pegasus, unicorn. Hell, there are even lists for characters only mentioned in chapter books. Damn it. Leave it to annoyingly thorough bronies to complicate things.
Sighing, I open up the three main lists and begin my search. There’s nothing resembling my hairdo and color in the earth pony list, and a look through the pegasi results in the same disappointment. By the time I’m looking through the alphabetical list of every single unicorn that’s appeared on a nine-season show, I feel like my brain’s going to leak out of my ponified ears.
Cinnamon Chai, Clear Sky, Coriander Cumin…
No, no, no…
Moon Dancer, Party Favor, Prince Blueblood…
Still no…
Star Swirl, Starlight Glimmer, Stellar Flare-
Stygian.
The image of the thin-limbed unicorn stallion practically jumps out at me as I stop scrolling, like he’s an old friend I’ve spotted in a crowded photo. The gray fur, squared features, and the blue, nerdy-looking mane burst the dam in my brain, sending a surge of recognition in the wake of its destruction. Yeah, now I remember! He was the villain of the season seven two-part finale, Shadow Play. He’d been corrupted by this dark force and turned into the ‘Pony of Shadows’, only to be sealed away in Limbo by Star Swirl and the rest of the Pillars of Equestria for centuries before finally being inadvertently released by Twilight. With the help of Starlight Glimmer, Twilight, and the also released Pillars, Stygian escaped the darkness’s influence, patched things up with a remorseful Star Swirl, and all was well.
No wonder why I didn’t recognize which pony my changes reminded me of. While the freed Pillars reappeared every so often after the two-parter, Stygian never showed up again. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if Hasbro straight up forgot he existed despite his pivotal role in the episodes he appeared in.
I look the unicorn’s static image up and down like I’m trying to find some message hidden between the pixels. Okay, well, this was illuminating and all, but this still doesn’t give me any actual answers. Why Stygian? Hell, why any pony? Was it because of my dreams last night? I don’t recall much of the specifics, but I had dreamed about the Pillars, and, now that I think about it, the events were from Stygian’s point of view. But why would that translate to what’s happening now? Dreams don’t cause people to start growing the features of talking cartoon animals!
My ears twitch, and I wrinkle my nose. Maybe I’m not approaching it in the right direction. Perhaps it isn’t the dream that caused the changes, but the changes that caused the dream. It’s possible that, subconsciously, my body understood that it was beginning to undergo this weird transformation, and it tried to prepare me for the results of it with that bizarre dream about the Pillars, Stygian, and Discord.
Okay, well, that sounds more coherent than the theory that the dream caused the changes, but there’s still a big, glaring, pony-shaped issue here- that being people’s bodies don’t fucking change like this! Our bones fuse as we progress past our first years, our brain is constantly developing, there’s the hormonal mess of puberty, hell, we might even shrink a little as we reach our later decades, but humans can’t spontaneously develop physical characteristics of other animals, fictional or otherwise!
So if science can’t do it, what caused this in the first place? Magic?
I make a face at the unbidden thought. God no. Absolutely not. There are things I’m willing to accept are real, provided there’s sufficient proof available, that’s how science works, but magic isn’t one of them. Maybe at one point I might have been disappointed that real life wasn’t as exciting as a D&D game, but I’ve long since outgrown that mindset. The world is complicated enough as it is without adding that to the mix. Magic, sorcery, whatever you want to call it- it resides firmly in the world of fiction, along with technicolor ponies from a children’s cartoon.
The tail beneath the covers twitches as if protesting my comment.
My eyes wander to the stallion’s image once again, zeroing to the pointed cone of a horn poking out from the mane covering his forehead. I reach up, rubbing at the same spot with my free hand. Oh god, if this keeps going, am I going to have a horn too?
My stomach drops, a new thought emerging from its descent. Forget the horn, Stygian’s a stallion! If this keeps going, am I going to…?
Nope. Nope- focus on something else, Percy.
I close the wiki tab, opting for ol’ reliable- Twitter.
The usual memes, personal gripes, and pet images pass me by as I scroll, but for the most part, people on my timeline are all abuzz about some explosion that happened at a bookstore in Seattle late last night. It was some small, boutique place selling first and limited edition stuff related to TV shows, movies, and other entertainment-related media Hell, I think I even stumbled upon their website a while back when looking for decent copies of the earlier editions of D&D rulebooks for my collection. Police haven’t determined a motive yet, but people are already screaming ‘terrorism’. I understand their perspective, but personally, I don’t buy it. What kind of terrorist blows up a super-niche bookstore in the Pacific Northwest while no one is there? I mean, I’m glad no one was injured, obviously, but terrorists don’t usually care about preventing deaths if it means their point gets across. Eh, maybe in the coming days someone will claim responsibility, likely alongside some lengthy manifesto explaining their goals. Like my condition, it’s an up in the air ‘wait and see’ thing.
Someone’s shared a link to the store’s GoFundMe, and I click on it. Donations have come pouring in since the morning, charitable individuals leaving messages wishing the owners the best of luck in rebuilding and recouping losses. They’re well on their way to reaching their set goal, which is good, because according to the campaign’s description, they apparently lost some incredibly valuable stuff in the blast. Some of the missing or ruined pieces include an autographed Wicked playbook, a first edition printing of Dune, a signed copy of the pilot script for Breaking Bad-
And a My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic show bible, complete with annotations and supplementals by Lauren Faust.
I scoff. Now that’s just mean, universe. Even potential terrorist attacks have to bring it up? Can’t I go five minutes without being reminded about that damn children’s television show? That Baader–Meinhof phenomenon is a real bitch.
I return to Twitter, but whatever enjoyment I typically get from scrolling the site just isn’t there. The words blur together on the small cell phone screen, boredom melting the images together into unrecognizability. Nothing feels interesting when your body is slowly betraying you.
Eventually, I give up on scrolling and put my phone on the nightstand. I try to nap instead, just to pass the time, but my body won’t let me. Every occasional twitch of my tail rips me back into consciousness. Its infrequent motions remind me that it’s still there, still connected to me, still mine. It’s just as restless as I feel, like it’s trying to expend all the nervous energy in my brain through its infrequent lashing. I can feel how it plays under the sheets, the hair-covered thing twisting and shifting under its soft, fabric confinement. The blankets rub against the thin limb, sliding against the unfamiliar and yet not quite alien appendage.
I don’t know how long I lay there, trying and failing to bring myself to do anything. I only know it must be hours by the way the sky’s hues warp beyond the windowpanes, overcast grays flaring into oranges and pinks before deepening into inky black. Shadows creep along the wall, stretching wider and taller until they engulf the room in their encompassing darkness.
I can’t bring myself to get up and turn the light on. In the embrace of the shadows, where I can’t see my tail wriggling under the covers, I can almost convince myself I still look normal.
At long last, my body surrenders to sleep, and I dream.
* * *
Star Swirl stomps his hoof. “Your reign of terror ends here, Discord!”
Discord yawns, fanning his mouth with a paw. “Bo-ring. Honestly, do you know how many times I’ve heard that in the past twenty four ho-”
The bearded stallion snarls, a beam of light lancing from the tip of his horn. The magic blast strikes the draconequus in the face, and he yelps, lifting a hand to shield himself. “Agh! I wasn’t done my speech!”
I bound up beside the unicorn, eyes narrowed. A blue light engulfs my horn, and I fire my own surge of magical energy towards the beast.
Discord begins to giggle as the light strikes him, hand still aloft in defense. “Stop! No! That tickles!” he wails. He writhes in place, feigning discomfort before dropping the act. “You seriously think your little light show is going to do anything? Not only am I immortal, but you don’t have the Elements of Harmony- without those, you’re useless!”
Star Swirl steps closer, the aged pony’s horn glowing brighter. “You forget yourself, Discord. Our magic predates the Elements that turned you to stone!”
Discord stops laughing, his amused smile twisting into something wry, derisive. “And yet it seems those thousand or so years in Limbo have made you rusty. It took me no time at all to deal with your crystal gardener friend.”
Before anyone can ask what he’s talking about, he places his lion paw under his chin. A cloud leaks out from his ears, forming a fluffy white thought bubble. “Ah- here we go. Watch!”
A scene forms on the surface of the thought bubble, playing out in vivid detail. The Crystal Empire’s gardens lay in ruins, the gorgeous, ornate sculptures Mistmane prided herself on creating shattered and strewn about. Cackling, Discord smashes a particularly large blossom made of quartz with a conjured baseball bat.
“Discord! What are you doing?!” Mistmane’s familiar voice demands. The unicorn mare trots onto the scene, furious.
“Who, me?” Discord asks. He holds the bat behind him, putting on an innocent face. “Oh, I was just redecorating, that’s all! Some of these crystal formations are sooo last season, y’know?”
“You put them back this instant!” the Pillar of Beauty orders, eyes narrowed.
Ther draconequus exhales histrionically and tosses the baseball bat aside. “Alright, fine. I’ll fix it,” he says. “Here. I know just where to put that big one I broke!”
With a snap of his claws, the massive quartz flower reappears above Mistmane’s head. She only has time to look up and gasp before the crystal sculpture crushes her.
The light from Star Swirl’s horn flickers, then gutters out. “Mistmane!” he cries. His voice is fractured and frail. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him that shaken before- not even before he sent us all into Limbo.
Discord’s lips press into a pout, and he waves the cloud away with a rake of his lizard fingers. “Oh, don’t be so glum, Mr. The Bearded. She didn’t have much left in her anyway.” A chuckle rumbles in his throat. “And, let’s be honest, neither do you. After all, aren’t you ponies several centuries past your expiration dates?”
A scream tears out of my throat, and I push my magic to its limits. Beside me, the gray unicorn joins me once again, the bells of his hat jingling as the force of his firing magic whips up a gale. My head pounds as the blue light surges brighter out of my horn, my hooves straining to keep myself upright.
Discord waves, an umbrella spawning in his grasp. He holds it out in front of him and spreads it open, our beams bouncing off upon contact. The draconequus hums to himself as the attacks reflect, inspecting his nails with his free hand. One of the beams fires back at me, and I duck just in time to hear it hiss over my head.
My heart plummets into my stomach. Oh, Tartarus, what have we gotten ourselves into? He hasn’t even broken a sweat!
“He’s too strong!” I despair. “Our magic isn’t doing anything!”
“Aye,” Rockhoof growls, “But I don’t need magic to batter em!” He bursts forward into a full gallop, head down as he charges toward the monster.
Discord snaps his fingers, suddenly clad in a flashy matador outfit. He tosses the umbrella, replacing it with a materializing red cape that he waves about wildly. Nostrils flared, Rockhoof chases the cape, spun in circle after circle as Discord twirls around.
Star Swirl nudges my barrel with his hoof. “Meadowbrook and I will go left. Stygian, you go right,” he instructs. “We must attack him from all angles.”
My horn finally dims, and I nod.
The three of us gallop toward the occupied draconequus, forking around him. Discord can’t focus on attacking all of us at once, and he definitely won’t be paying attention to me. I need to get at him from a different angle- see if there’s a gap in his defenses. As we flank the chimeric monster, I let loose another blast of magic from my horn. Out of the corner of my eye I see Star Swirl doing the same. Meadowbrook, on the other hand, pulls potions out of her saddlebag, hurling them at the menace.
I’m giving everything I’ve got, another skull-shaking salvo of magic bursting from my horn. I can do this. I have to do this. Star Swirl and the others are counting on me. I can be the hero I’ve always wanted to be. I can avenge Flash Magnus. I can avenge Mistmane. I can avenge Somnamb-
Visibly bored of the constant spinning, Discord drops the cape over Rockhoof’s head. Blinded, the massive stallion cries out, galloping blindly until he trips over his own hooves-
Towards me.
Though my horn lights up again, I’m too exhausted from my previous magic assault to soften the impact with strategic telekinesis. Rockhoof bowls into me, sending us both tumbling. I squeeze my eyes tight, but it does me no good; I can still feel the world whirling, up and down, up and down.
The rapid somersaulting only stops once we collide with a tree. With the rate we were going, I’m surprised Rockhoof didn’t knock the thing over entirely. I open my eyes with a groan, pine needles raining down onto us both. A few sneak their way into my nostrils, and I sneeze.
I roll off the larger pony, my hooves shaking. It still feels like I’m spinning. I can faintly make out the sound of Star Swirl crying out in a panic for Meadowbrook.
“Stygian,” Rockhoof rumbles behind me. I turn in time to see him rising to his hooves and shaking off the red cape. “You’ve got to get out of here. Get as far as you can. Warn the others. We’ll hold him off for you.”
Betrayal strikes me like a hoof to the face. They still don’t trust me to help them. The divide between us deepens like an opening wound, just as painful. They still don’t think I’m cut out for this. They still don’t think I’m good enough.
I shake my head and stomp my hoof. “No! You came asking for my help- I can help, let me help just this on-”
He doesn’t let me finish. With a rough shove of his head, he pushes me back in the direction we’d come. Then, he forces me onto his massive snout, jerking his head upward to launch me into the air.
“Rockhoof, please-!”
By the time the words leave me he’s already shrunken dozens of feet beneath me- and getting smaller. I soar over the evergreen treetops as the battle rages further and further behind me. The world whips past me, tearing the air from my weary lungs. My hooves kick and flail but find no purchase.
Finally, my forceful ascent stops, and the descent begins. My stomach flips as I lose altitude, like it’s plummeting slower than the rest of me. I curl myself up tight in preparation for imminent impact, my hooves clamped tight over my eyes.
I’m falling.
I’m falling.
I’m-
The ground rises to meet me, and darkness engulfs my vision.
* * *
My eyes snap open, greeted by a similar blackness.
Another dream. Another Stygian dream. I rack my brains for the specifics. I wasn’t one to rewatch episodes, but I feel like I’d remember a scene like that from the show. Was that a bit from the finale, maybe? I haven’t watched it since it first premiered, and other stuff has pushed the specifics out of my brain, but I swear I recalled something about the Pillars happening after Twilight was blasted by Discord. Stygian was probably there too, just so the creators could say they didn’t forget about him.
I glance to the window. It’s still dark- either it’s late at night, or early enough in the morning that the sun hasn’t risen. How long was I out?
I grope awkwardly over the surface of my nightstand before my fingers find my phone. I pull it over, blinding myself with the screen as I turn it on. I wince, ears swiveling. Ow. I stare at the lock screen in a still-sleepy haze, vaguely registering the presence of the time- 4:53 - and several missed text messages. I unlock the phone to check.
Sure enough, they’re all from mom. Just a few texts hoping for me to check in, then another text asking if I got the first few, before a final concession opting to let me rest instead, but not without reminding me to send her a message if I need anything.
I put my phone back on the nightstand before turning on my lamp. It’s been a while; I should probably check to see if anything else has changed. Sitting up, I scoot to the edge of the bed and let my feet dangle over the side. I feel myself over, beginning to survey my form. When I go to check on my ears and hair, my fingers brush over a new obstruction, situated squarely in the center of my forehead.
I have a horn.
My digit prods the conical protrusion, and I’m surprised at just how solid it feels. I give it a light tug and wince. I knew it was going to be connected, and yet the firmness of the object still manages to stun me.
With the horn in mind, I feel over the rest of my face for a snout. Nothing. Check my arms for fur. Nothing. A peek inside my shirt reveals my breasts have vanished, taking the nipples with them. My chest looks bizarre without either, like I’m some living Ken doll. Fuck me, that’s weird. Aside from that and the horn, though, nothing else appears to have been ponified.
Maybe I’ll get a fuller picture if I’m standing.
Dismounting the bed, my hooves hit the ground with a clop.
My body goes rigid. Am I hearing things, or did my hooves just- wait, hooves? Why am I thinking about them as hooves? I don’t have hooves, I have-
I look down, swiftly greeted by evidence to the contrary. A pair of dark gray hooves present themselves at the ends of my legs- legs that look far less human than they did yesterday afternoon. My ankles have risen higher, as have my knees. To top it all off, the entire lower half of each leg is covered in a coat of light gray hair.
A coat. The realization pulls my new hooves out from under me and drops me back onto the bed. Oh my god, I’m growing a fucking fur coat. Like an animal. Like a pony.
My once sluggish brain kicks into overdrive. If I didn’t notice the fur and hooves at first, what else have I missed? I already have a tail, is there anything I could possibly-
I stare just below my waist, at the slight lump at the front of my shorts. The blue hair on the back of my neck stands up, my skin tightening with a wave of goosebumps. Oh, please, don’t tell me.
My hand takes an eternity to reach down. Slowly, I lift the waistband of my shorts and
and
and
and
Maybe it’s a self-defense mechanism, like my brain’s desperate to sleep off the shock of what I’ve just seen, or maybe the changes have sapped my energy in general. Either way, my head slams into the pillow, and darkness takes me again.