Log, Entry 4:

I’m feeling a bit better. Getting some rest seems to have helped. I’m still getting a very unclear signal from the hive—I’m not sure if it’s related to this body or the area. There is a possibility of surveillance; the Equestrian government has had an interest in Ponyville for some time, which may be why I was sent here in the first place. Not having a clear outline of objectives is very upsetting. I hope a better signal will come soon.

Log, Entry 5:

This body is terrible. I keep getting the urge to change, but I can’t risk it. Anyone could be watching. It would be the most shameful of failures to be found out before my mission has even begun. Mother’s voice would make it better. I miss her. The skin over my skin itches. The sun is too bright.

I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be complaining. I’m here because I was chosen. The whole hive is depending on me.

So why won’t they speak to me?

I saw this body’s housemate after I woke up in the morning. She didn’t seem to think anything was wrong. I remembered to smile. It felt unnatural, but she didn't seem to notice my discomfort.

She reminded me that my body has a name. ‘Bon Bon’.

To keep up appearances, I’ll have to start going through everyday motions. Ponies seem to act oddly when they encounter seclusion: the housemate took note of that, at least.

There’s a host of things to learn: work, socializing, names, mannerisms... it’s all like emerging for the first time. But here, Mother’s voice is absent. There is no song of birthing to greet me.

I should know all of this. It’s supposed to be second nature. We are meant to blend, and shape, and adapt. But all of it feels so alien. These hooves are not mine. This body is a disgusting wrapping paper. Fur, and skin, and a mane like damp, itchy straw are all I have to conduct myself. I hate it. I don’t want to imagine what kind of voice I will need.

But I will not fail.

I will begin preparing.

Next entry will come tomorrow.