The Changeling sat in the corner of his little room, a fluffy white and blue flowered bed to the side, with a small desk with quill and paper to the other side, and a little stack of books perched upon said desk for the ornately-winged Changeling to read. He was far smoother in his design, almost sleek and slender for a Changeling, with faintly compound eyes glittering as brightly as the room’s light off his butterfly-esque wings. Indeed, his wings were the only thing that was, by Pony standards, pretty. The were similar to that of a Luna Moth’s, broad and with a soft, elegant pattern to them, a soft texture which the Changeling was, amazingly, allowing the “race traitor” to feel as Twilight stood off to the side, looking from the journal in her hooves to the Changeling and the half-Changeling who was stroking the wing.

“We appreciate your assistance in providing some translating for this journal.” Twilight said calmly as the “race traitor” stepped back, translating for Twilight as the loathe-to-be-touched-again Changeling slightly “harrumphed” before sitting down on the bed, wings fluttering shut as he flopped down onto his back. At least they assumed he was a he. It could be…difficult to tell with Changelings. He SOUNDED like a he.

“She would like to ask you about these terms. Ilgagsu, Nabang, K-” The changeling-blooded, blue-haired young stallion asked, his slightly alluring eyes looking over the changeling as it turned to look right at him, pale blue into deepest blue.

“Clan titles.” It muttered. “I am an Ilgagsu. We are looked lowly upon by other clans for how “Pony-like” we are.” It…HE chuckled out, shaking its head back and forth. “Because our wings are pretty That is all your kind care about, isn’t it? That’s why your kind LOVED to mix and pollute your blood. You just wanna be PRETTY.”

“You’re lucky we didn’t-! SOME of us would have speared you when you tried to surrender.” Shinedown T. Mare snapped back, the changeling-blooded stallion looking irritated. “Just because you’re a Changeling! But we were willing to give you a chance to explain yourself. Why did you declare war on us?”

“We were HUNGRY.”

“Go to Griffon Grinders and eat a burger.”

“Oh, but I have NOBODY to wear!” The Changeling chortled as he stood up, putting a hoof on its chest as it slightly shifted, its form becoming that of a Pegasus with deep brownish/black fur and faintly pale blue eyes before shooting back to its normal form. “It isn’t like it used to be so many centuries ago in New Hope, when our kind were respected for our talents, when the appearance of a Changeling meant adoration and admiration. Now we are feared. Hated. In ten minutes I would stick out like a sore thumb without feeding on somebody’s positive emotions. Such feeding is required for us to maintain our ability to change forms.”

“He says that his species comes in different clans. He’s an “Ilgagsu”, they’re very good at flying. And evidently Changelings need things like love and friendship to power the ability they have to shapeshift.” Shinedown translated to Twilight, the unicorn noticing the Earth Pony’s irritation as he rubbed his chin, brow angrily furrowed.

“Besides.” The Changeling went on. “We do not have gold, these wings do not come with pockets. Evolution did not see fit to provide us with POCKETS. When our species first developed between the Ghainahm and the Sugnbohn families, neither side ended up with POCKETS at the end of their development!”

“…wait. He just said they have separate families too!” Shinedown translated quickly, eyes widening.

“You don’t even know your own species history, race traitor?” The changeling asked of the blue-mohawked stallion as Twilight walked over to the Changeling, who slightly flinched as she stared directly into her eyes, as if feeling she was staring squarely into his soul.

“Tell me about the families. Tell me everything you can.” She asked as Shinedown quickly translated, the Changeling hesitating before finally letting out a deep sigh, head hanging low as he spoke, the changeling-blooded stallion translating for Twilight.

“It was on the anniversary of our kind’s birth in Equestria, eon upon eon ago, that it occurred. A shift in the paradigm of power 35,000 years ago resulted from what we called “The Joining”. Where once had the King dominated, now we had a queen in equal power. And 5,000 years after that, the Great Schism, when the King and Queen separated and his people left our clan. The Ghainahm left, the Elitists no longer one with us, the Sugnbohn. Where they went, we are unsure…we’ve heard they mingled with your race, slowly dying off as a “pure” species, save for the king, and even he has passed from this world.”

“Do you know his name?” Twilight asked.

“His name has been lost to time and lost to us. You are lucky I am willing to tell this to you. Most of my kind are only to give our name, rank and file number.” The changeling told them, waving a hoof in the air. “The days of old were glorious…it was so much better when all respected our skills, when we embraced not a lie, but a dream of something better, a hope for…” He trailed off. “…that hope is all but gone now.”

“If you stopped attacking our cities and our friends, we’d let you live among us.” Shinedown offered sympathetically. “We’re really VERY tolerant people for the most part. And we’ve been working hard on accepting those with Changeling blood into our culture.” He added, putting a hoof on his chest. “I mean, look at me. I’m head of the Peacekeeping Council of Special Investigations for all Equestria. Ten years ago that would have been unheard of.”

“Things change, is that what you’re saying?” The changeling asked quietly. “I do not deny Ponykind has been tolerant towards rac…mixed bloods.” He mumbled, seeing Shinedown giving him a “Don’t use that term” look. “And your kind could end up becoming just as tolerant towards purer breeds. But I do not wish to simply not be persecuted. I do not wish to simply be an aspect of your tolerance. I wish to be a true citizen of a true nation, with the full rights that entails, to be second to nobody else. And the fact is…as your kind are now…you wouldn’t give that to me. Would you?”

“…what IS your name?” Twilight gently inquired as the Changeling momentarily stiffened before chewing on his lip.

“Daisu.” He murmured back. “Naityo Daisu of the Naityo Crest.”

“…thank you for your help.” Twilight said, bowing her head deeply as she left the room, Daisu blinking slowly as Shinedown walked out with her, confusedly staring after her before moving over to the desk, picking off a book from the top of the pile and looking it over the “Changeling Edition” of a very popular tome…

“Daring Do and the Temple of Doom…?”

…

…

…

… “He seemed to be telling the truth. Though he clearly has a deep cultural predisposition to be suspicious and to think lower of ponies.” Shinedown admitted as he stood with Luna’s temple deep in the Everfree Forest, the Princess of the Night nodding firmly at her student as he continued. “Evidently my “type” are Changelings who separated from the rest of the main herd thousands of years ago. They were led by a king, whilst the rest stayed loyal to the queen.”

“What do we know of these two different types?” Luna wished to know.

“I believe that the writer of this journal was a “Ghainahm”.” Twilight said. “He speaks of having HAIR. Except for CHRYSALIS, how many Changelings do you know have HAIR?” She asked, holding the journal up and smiling proudly. “And from how the Changeling treated us, the farther away they are from looking like ponies, the more highly a Changeling is apparently thought of.”

Luna paced back and forth in the deep, starry walls of the private training grounds of her secret temple, the magically-painted walls of the temple revealing slowly-revolving stars as galaxies passed by them. She furrowed her brow, deep in thought before speaking up once again. “I can understand. Their whole existence is founded upon stealing the lives of others…anything, ANYTHING that reminds them that they are them, that they are CHANGELING, not pony, not Griffon, not Diamond Dog…anything that lets them know they are their own kind is embraced. They still try to maintain a kind of identity all their own.”

“They must think everything about their species will never be more than an echo of others. It’s…so sad.” Shinedown murmured quietly. “And they KNOW that. That’s why he spoke so lovingly about the past culture, about New Hope. It was a time their race was so BELOVED. When did that change? WHY did that change?”

“The ancient histories tell that the sky opened up, and New Hope was lost. Perhaps something in that journal will elaborate upon both points.” Luna wondered aloud as Twilight’s horn glowed brightly and the journal hovered before her, the unicorn nodding enthusiastically.

“I’ve been working hard at translating this, Princess Luna. I’ll get to the bottom of it. Right now I’m at quite an interesting part. They’re speaking of technology I’ve never even HEARD of before. They had a draconic delivery system like what Spike does for us and other assistants who know the art of the Green Fire know, but they took it even further than that with this “Source Wall”.” Twilight said excitedly.

…

…

…

… “Ahhh. Warm and toasty.” Shimmer said cheerily as he held up his hooves before the Source Wall located at the far end of the studio’s main shooting room, Carapace looking over the letter that Shimmer had gotten, a pained expression flickering over his well-set face before he turned to Shimmer and sighed.

“Do you even know how the Source Wall works? Look.” He said, pointing with a beefy hoof at the top right-hand corner of the Source Wall as the glowing magical wall glimmered. “SHIMMER’S ROOM.” He announced, that part of the wall letting off a faint musical harmony before it displayed the unmistakable image of Shimmer as the smooth and well-built Changeling he was well-known for playing as a member of New Wave, bits and pieces of trivia and personal data on the “Ghainahm Style” Changeling being emblazoned below in tiny burning letters written by a seemingly invisible hand on the wall. “See? This fan I met, he asked if he could create a “BBS” all about you, and that allocates a part of the Source Wall’s infinite space to telling other fans all about you!”

“The dragons are so clever when they wanna be, don’t you think?” Shimmer admitted as several ponies walked by with recording equipment, cameras and microphones, smiling over in Shimmer and Carapace’s direction. “Can you believe it, a way to connect everybody to each other in every public building in New Hope! If only our concerts could be played on this. Say, could…could I possibly get a small one for MY room?”

“Of course, but you’d have that request put in to the Draconic Delivery System.” Carapace insisted, waving a hoof in the air as the director whistled sharply, Sirocco nodding over at him as he handed Director Maghreb the script he wanted. The zebra took it in his hoof, looking it over as his brow slightly furrowed before glancing at the unicorn and Pegasus lead protagonists that were the big stars of the scene, who quickly made their way before the cameras, onto a set that resembled a pale whitish/yellow hallway with enormous window after window. Specifically, a hospital hallway, all sanitized and clean. The only thing gritty and grimy appeared to be the “hardcore” unicorn walking alongside the Pegasus pony as she brushed her long, thick black locks slightly to the side, the camera ready to capture her and her partner.

“On the count of five!” Director Maghred announced through his loudspeaker, all the camera men taking point, the grips holding the microphones in JUST the right places to be above the camera’s field of vision, but close enough to the actors to capture every proper hint of emotion and suspense their words carried. “Four! Three!”

Soon the scene began to play out, Jillian the Pegasus and Anderson the Unicorn speaking to each other about a recent murder that the two were investigating. “So you’re saying that the murder victim’s, Rei Flecht…he had a baby brother? And he’s HERE in the hospital? Why were we not informed sooner?”

“Young Eiko was only just picked up last night. And he’s been in treatment centers for his condition.”

“Condition?”

“His family has issues with mental illness. He doesn’t want it manifesting, so he’s been taking steps to nip it in the bud.” Jillian murmured as she stopped, hanging her head slightly as her tone became quiet…thoughtful. “…Anderson.”

Anderson halted, looking back at her as her eyes became grey and steely. “Yeah?”

“Do you know why the culprit peels the skin off of his victims?” She asked of him.

“I thought he got some kind of sexual stimulation.” He assumed with a nonchalant shrug.

“No. He wants to become one.” Jillian said swiftly, waving a hoof in the air. “…be it a woman, or…” She trailed off.

“CUT!”

“OOOOGH.” Jillian moaned out, holding a hoof over her head and shaking it back and forth. “Fer the love of all that’s good, that was HARD getting that tone jes’ right, I tell you what!”

“Look at her.” Shimmer whispered as he rested his head in his hooves, sitting on a nearby chair, the script in his lap as Carapace right next to him. “Jill’s amazing. She becomes a completely different person when that camera’s rolling for the dailies.”

“OPPA!” The director cried out, the zebra’s dark red face paint faintly glistening in the light of the studio as he turned to Shimmer, who immediately sat up. “You’re up!”

“You nervous?” Carapace asked. “I mean, it’s only one line…”

“I can do this. I know I can.” Shimmer said with a firm nod, brushing his dark blue hair back with a hoof before trotting off towards the set, Carapace looking over the script as Shimmer took his position in a “patient’s room”, having now finished with a “check-up” according to the script.

“How do you think our star actor’s going to do?” Sirocco asked with a cheery smile as he approached Carapace and sat down, taking a long drag from a cigarette made of moonflower pollen, which wasn’t nearly as strong as moonflower JUICE.

“I’m sure our little idol’s gonna be fine. Anybody good enough to win a Bonsang award is good enough to be a recurring character in a daily.” Carapace reasoned as Shimmer placed his hooves together, quietly repeating a line over and over.

“Please…tell me who I am. Please…tell me who I am.”

The spotlight faintly glimmering above him…a hundred people speaking at once, and yet all focused on something else, be it the next lines in the script, the direction of the cameras, readying a power line or sipping some soda from a jug…nobody seemed to be looking at him but for the faint familiar figure in the far back, the grey-furred pony looking squarely at him before Shimmer turned to see somebody was walking onto the set.

Oh! It was the writer, a Earth pony with deep, luscious pink skin and hair that flowed straight down around her head to halt at her neck, a pair of shiny glasses glittering on her face, pearly white in color like the quill “cutie mark” that indicated her special talent on her flank as she smiled and waved at the director, Mister Maghreb nodding as the other actors said hello to him. “Good to see you, Moore.”

“How is our star performer?” He asked of Anderson as the male lead gave her something of a nervous look.

“Your lines are kinda…hard material. And you’re sorta dumpin’ the audience right inta it. Maybe we oughta eaaaaase them into this kind of subject matter so they ain’t, y’know…so they’re not put off?” Jillian reasoned, waving a hoof in the air as Anderson nodded.

“Yeah, it can be jarring for an audience to go from pleasant moments between coworkers to talking about people getting SKINNED.” He added. “What next? The murderer is going to be dancing around in front of a mirror asking himself “Would you fuck me? I’d fuck me. Fuck me hard”?”

“That’s BRILLIANT!” Moore proclaimed, quickly pulling out a notepad from a belt pouch she had on and scribbling down what she needed onto it from an enchanted quill she had resting behind her ear. “I’m telling you, the audience just loves this kind of stuff. You gotta give the people what they want!” She said as the director took notice of something that was being wheeled over to them by a draconic assistant with deep red scales.

“To be fair, your performance after the murder scene HAS gotten us quite a few fan letters sent here already.” Director Maghreb chuckled as the dragon held up a stack of letters, the zebra noticing a very bright pink one at the top. “Oh. This one’s for our newest star, young Shimmer. Heh. This’ll be good for the kid.” He chuckled as he took the letter, Jillian raising an eyebrow into the air.

“What about the criminal? We’ve had a stand-in, but neither the audience nor the crew here know whom you want to be the REAL murderer. All we’ve got are hints, and it could still be anyone.” The pony murmured at Moore as she shrugged.

“That’d be spoiling the surprise.” She insisted, walking off with the director who held the letter in his mouth, giving Moore a “Well, what ABOUT what she just said” look. “I know, I know, I have to actually come up with a real murderer, not have a stunt pony doing everything. I haven’t made up my mind yet…” He muttered as they approached Carapace and Sirocco. “Hey. Somebody found out your young star’s working here. And I must say I’ve heard very nice things about him.”

“So will he be getting more lines then?” Sirocco asked in a slightly wheedling tone as Maghreb gave Moore a slight jab in the side with his elbow, Moore waving a hoof in the air.

“Woah, woah, relax! We’ll make more use of Shimmer, believe me.” She insisted quickly. “The problem is that he’s a pop star…”

“Not anymore.” Sirocco said, Carapace frowning a bit, looking rather pained as he slightly hung his head. “We want to give him a drastic image change, too.”

“We’re ready for the take!” The camera crew cried out as the director handed Sirocco the letter they’d gotten, Sirocco looking it over with obvious pleasure as he showed it to Carapace, Shimmer lowering his head as Jillian and Anderson took their places by the bed on the set they would be shooting the next scene at. “Everyone’s in position?”

“Please…tell me who I am. Please…tell me who I am.”

“And we are rolling in five! Four! Three!”

Shimmer raised his head, mouth beginning to open-

THA-BANG!

“SKREEEEEE!!!” Sirocco’s screech tore through the studio, the sandy-haired, dark-feathered griffon howling in agony as he clutched his burnt and bloodied clawed hands, the letter having exploded as he opened it up, Carapace knocked to the floor, gaping in surprise as the other people in the filming studio looked around at each other and the scene of horror that had just shattered the calm around them.

“Sirocco! SIROCCO!” Shimmer screamed out, racing to his side, kneeling down by him as Sirocco panted and heaved, looking up at Shimmer as Carapace wheeled around, yelling at the crew to call a medic.

“I’m…alright.” He mumbled out before his head flopped to the ground, Shimmer taking notice of the chunk of letter that had flopped to the ground in a small pool of Sirocco’s blood, the words becoming soaked in deep, dark red.

“…warning you…next time’s for real.”

…

…

…

… “…oh, Sirocco…” Shimmer murmured softly, shaking his head back and forth as he sat upon his bed, Carapace stepping away from the newly-installed miniature Source Wall that Shimmer now had in his room. It shimmered a pale blue, like ice made of flame instead of frozen water as Carapace rubbed his brow, nodding in approval of his own skill in getting the source wall in JUUUST the right place. The hard part wasn’t getting the Dragon Delivery Service to send you one. The problem was getting the enchanted frame around the source wall they magically teleported in so the flames of the Source Wall wouldn’t accidentally set your place on fire.

“Well? Do you like it?” He asked as Shimmer crawled off the bed and plopped down in front of the source wall as it gently hummed, its soft warmth spreading through the newly-refurbished room Shimmer now had. His fish were on top of a large desk to the right of the source wall, all the wallpaper was now painted to resemble a starry night sky with a fake “solar system” display as a lighting fixture hanging from above, a little something Carapace had come up with. For a manager, Carapace was startling good with his hooves.

“Oh, absolutely!” Shimmer admitted as he grabbed his light blue pillow off his bed and wrapped it around his stomach. “I just…well…I mean…Sirocco?”

“You think we should have called the police.” Carapace asked, tilting his head slightly to the side as Shimmer enthusiastically nodded.

“Well, yes. I know the director insisted everyone not say a thing, but I don’t think it was just a PRANK. We should go over to the Peacekeeper Headquarters and make a report.” Shimmer added as Carapace sighed. “I mean, that letter WAS meant for me.”

“Sirocco agreed with the director. It was just a prank.” He said with a shrug. “…BUT! If anything even remotely close to that DOES happen again, I’ll go down with you to the Peacekeepers myself, alright?” Carapace reasoned, Shimmer sighing as he nodded, Carapace gesturing at the source wall. “Now, you remember how to use this?”

“…um…uh…I ask the source wall for the name of the BBS, right? And it’ll display it here?” Shimmer inquired, pointing at the source wall, Carapace chuckling a bit.

“It’s really easy…here, I’ll explain it again…”

Later that night, Shimmer was in a cute little set of deep green beddy boxers, sitting in front of the source wall as he sucked on a tiny little blue ball, a tasty liquid seeping out and into his mouth as he slightly suckled upon it. Pure sugar. MMMM.

Still…not enough. He sighed, turning his head away from the source wall, which had brought up the BBS of “Shimmer’s Room” and stood up, slightly trotting to the side of the room, turning on his own room’s television screen, turning the dials to the necessary channel. Number 3, of course. And it was right around 10:00, so that meant that…

Yes. It was starting. An ACTUAL performance of the “Honorian Saga” that wasn’t abysmal, played out in the way it was meant to be. The young princess was weeping openly over the dead body of her mother, her father standing off to the side, a young page nervously looking in to the room from the far end as the father slowly approached and put a wing on the little robin’s shoulder.

“My daughter…there comes times when absolute sadness grips your heart and you feel nothing will ever break you free from it. I’m sure you’d like nothing more than for your father to make everything better. But your father is a weak, weak, man.” He admitted quietly, Shimmer sucking some more on the sugar ball, eyes widening. His favorite part. “But I promise you. I will always BE here. Confused…maybe even just as sad as you…but there.”

With that, the daughter deeply embraced her father, the two openly weeping over the loss of the queen as the little page looking into the room slowly closed the door upon them, whispering softly to himself. “I will take your tears away one day. Please wait for me…”

As the music swelled, Shimmer deeply inhaled, putting the sugar ball down as a tingling, pleasurable sensation rose up in him. He wrapped his hooves around himself, breathing in deep as the sorrow and mournful emotions rolled into him, instilled from the daily playing on the television set. For a changeling, it was as refreshing as taking in a deep breath after eating a mint and almost as erotic as being stroked in the most personal of ways. It was only the simulation of emotions, true…but it was just enough to keep Shimmer’s shifting powers going and add to his reserves. Not much. But enough.

Letting out a final sigh, he turned the television off. He turned back to the source wall, seeing somebody had created pictures of him for others to look upon, all pictures of him as a pop star. The changeling smiled at this, rubbing the side of his face. “Awww.” He murmured. He really had truly loved singing. Even if his “family” were nourished by negative emotions unlike the Sugnbohn, he liked the warm fuzzy feeling that came from knowing others were happy. Being in a drama would no doubt do wonders for his shapeshifting ability, but…still…the spotlight that now shone on him didn’t have that soft warmth it used to.

“I made a choice.” He finally said out loud. “I’m an actor now. I’m moving up. I just hope my fans understand that.” He wondered aloud, looking over an entry in the BBS. “Hmm. Whomever’s behind this really knows me. They must have been to all my concerts…oh, that one.” He blushed as he read over one of the entries on the BBS. “I screwed up my lyrics a bit. Nobody noticed, but I feel so sorry for all my fans. It all started when I got off the train left hoof first. I always go RIGHT hoof. I know it sounds crazy, but it’s those little things you do, the “superstitions” you carry that really can make or break your day.”

He chuckled a bit. “Sheesh, somebody REAAAALLY knows me.” Shimmer admitted, though his brow furrowed a bit as he read the next entry. “On my way back home, I went shopping at the usual store. The ophidian talked to me about maybe getting dog meat. Vallian can be quite…the…card…”

The changeling’s eyes widened, his voice becoming a quiet whisper as a chill began to sneak up his back and he continued to read. “But…I decided to stick with a few pounds of fresh fish…” He rubbed his eyes, gaping slightly at another entry. “The 15th…I couldn’t believe Jillian’s performance in “Manifest”. It’s…like she becomes…a completely different person w-when that camera’s rolling f-for the d-dailies…” He stuttered. “…how does this person know so much about me?!” He gasped out.

And then he saw it. A tiny little changeling face, one of several that faintly imitated his own spread out like bullet points beneath that entry, under a tagline reading “Hear Me!”

“…the…first one?” He nervously murmured out to the source wall. “Wh-what’s it say?”

““Please…tell me who I am. Please…tell me who I am.”

“…HOW…?”

Please…tell me who I am.

PLEASE…TELL ME WHO I AM…

PLEASE…TELL ME WHO I AM…”