“You're mad at me, aren't you?” That unfamiliar feminine voice is speaking again.

I'm trying to wrap my head around it all. Twilight Sparkle calls from Lyra's laptop, I don't hear my voice anywhere on that end. Clearly, my body has been subjected to some sort of gender reversal spell, or I'm suffering some major brain damage.

'I'd probably lean toward the former if I were you,' the Head-Lyra whispers. 'I don't like the implication that I am just brain trauma.'

“Lyra?” I ask hoarsely.

There's a moment of hesitation before she replies. “Yeah, it's me. You're mad, aren't you?”

I honestly don't know at this point. I've been blown up—twice, if you count the phone—scalded, fallen down the stairs, nearly drowned, and attacked by dogs. Somehow, my real body undergoing a magical sex change just seems sort of surreal at this point. “How—”

“I knew he'd be mad, Twilight—”

“No! I'm asking how this happened.” I quickly cut off that nonsense. I'm reserving anger for after I've heard her out. “I'm pretty sure Twilight wouldn't just alter my body just to make you happy. Therefore, I'll reserve my judgement until after I hear just what sort of Shenanigans are going on in Ponyville.”

“Well, you know how you asked about gelding after reliving one of my memories and I dodged the question?” She sounds completely embarrassed. “Here in Equestria, there are some pretty strict penalties regarding sexual crimes...”

“Tell me you didn’t...”

“The laws are pretty strict, especially regarding a sex assault. I won’t deny that they’re pretty lopsided because nopony ever hears a stallion pressing charges against a mare.” Her voice is hitching as she speaks. Disgusted might be more apt, not for how she feels about the laws, but about herself. “In this kingdom, a sexual assault against another being, regardless of race or sex, is usually grounds for a gelding at the least.”

I let a bit of horrified anxiety creep into my voice. “Lyra, what did you do?”

“Remember how I said I didn’t remember much about last night? I was apparently pretty drunk, and I guess pretty horny too. Bon-Bon hasn’t been the least bit interested in me since the switch, and I won’t deny the testosterone I read about was getting the better of me. I just felt so pent up! So when I saw a former lover at Pinkie’s party, I apparently went in and tried to woo her with my fingers. I must have thought it would work out this time since she turned out to be straight, but I guess I kept pawing at her, er, flank.”

“I still don’t think Lyra understands just how far I stuck my neck out for her. I had to call in so many favors, and even then, only a letter to Princess Celestia kept her from being sterilized!” Twilight’s agitation couldn’t be any more clear. “Even then, the Princess insisted I use a spell to rein in Lyra. She believed that male hormones were clearly too much for Lyra to handle, and I kind of agree. Don’t worry though! The sex inversion spell I settled on should wear off by the time you switch back.”

“So... are we cool, Soren?” Lyra chimes in sheepishly.

“I’m...” I’m what exactly? Mad at her? No. Disappointed maybe. I can feel that Head-Lyra is disappointed in herself too. I also feel kind of bad for Octavia, seeing as I apparently know that was the only other lover she had. If I’ had been the one subjected to a gender reversal spell, I would probably be elated. Now though, it’s just one more thing mocking me in this disastrous chain of events.

“I’m okay with this.” Yep, my tone of voice just went into uber-creepy territory there. It also felt like my eyes went in two separate directions. “I’m absolutely, 777% okay with this.”

‘You certainly seem that way,’ that Lyra voice in the back of my mind mutters sarcastically. ‘Maybe you should work on getting me home and you out of my body instead of flipping out?’

“I thought I told you to shut up, Head-Lyra.” I growl in response. “Anyway, Twilight? We have kind of an issue on my end here. I think Lyra was going to talk to you about this before you dropped Rule 63 on her.”

“She said your memories were being overwritten,” Twilight answers. “I take it there’s more than just memory override, if you’re shouting at a Lyra in your head.”

“Yeah...”

“Did you happen to experience any head trauma since the switch?” she asks. “Does this ‘Head-Lyra’ ever try to take control, or does she just talk to you?”

“If you must know, I’ve been blown up, hit in the head by a flying telephone that later exploded, fallen down a flight of stairs, slipped in the bathtub, and been attacked by my own dogs. There have been more opportunities for head injuries than I can shake a stick at... ” I laugh in spite of myself. “To answer your question though, I don’t think she’s ever taken control, but there was that sleepwalking incident this morning.

“It worries me though,” I say a bit less enthusiastically. “I’m forgetting things at an alarming rate, and things that I do remember I’m having issues differentiating between Lyra’s memories, and my memories of the show...”

“Ixnay on the owshay,” Lyra quickly interjects.

I glare at the monitor. Pig Latin, Lyra? Are you fucking kidding me? Twilight is a smart pony! She’s too clever for such childish language games. “I can’t believe you didn’t at least tell her about the show.”

“What show?”

I sigh. “Long story short, the adventures of you and your friends are available to the denizens of my world as a form of entertainment on a television, or on computers like the device through which you are speaking to me through. Get mad at Lyra, not me.” I feel a twinge of pain in the back of my head. “OW! In the meantime, can we please do something about the Lyra inside my head and my impending personality death?”

Twilight’s completely silent. I think Lyra muted the microphone so that I can’t hear her being chewed out, or something. All I can do is open up the web browser and check for some fan-fiction updates. There are no updates, and nothing new is of interest. Wonderful!

My head is really starting to ache now. ‘This isn’t right. Why does it hurt?’ Oh good, so at least my agony is shared. That’s actually kind of reassuring. ‘This reassures you? Wow, that’s messed up.’ You think? Do I need to go through all the reasons that this is classified as a terrible two days, Lyra? No? I thought not. Thinking is making my head hurt more, like it’s accelerating the process or something.

As loathe as I am to the idea, I’m not sure there’s any other choice. “Twilight? Listen. You need to get me out of here. Magical, talking, polychromatic ponies don’t belong in this world.” I plead. “I’m sure if you just explain to Princess Celestia, she’ll understand. You’ve got to! I don’t—Aaaaaagh!”

I scream and Head-Lyra screams with me as a blinding pain fills my mind. It’s like someone just directed a fucking halogen bulb right into my eyes, only it’s my brain instead. There’s a vise closing on my consciousness. Even as I struggle to remain upright, my vision is dropping away, becoming but tiny pinpricks. Vaguely, I hear Lyra and Twilight calling out to me across the distance. Even further off in the distance, the dogs are having a fit and my parents may or may not be calling me... but it doesn’t matter. The darkness has me, and it seems to be for keeps.

‘Where am I?’ It’s a standard question to ask when you find yourself in an unfamiliar place. Where am I right now? I’m in a small, dimly lit room with no discernible source of light. There are five walls, a floor, and a ceiling—no windows or doors. Aside from a five-sided rug, the room is completely unfurnished. There’s nobody else in the room, but I can feel I’m not alone.

‘Who am I?’ It’s a standard question you might ask if you awake in an unfamiliar place, not quite sure of yourself or your memories. I am... I am Soren—a jobless nobody who writes fan-fiction—but I am also not. I am Lyra—a minstrel and human enthusiast—but again, I also am not. If not myself, or the one who ruined my life, who am I then?

‘What am I?’ That’s the real question, isn’t it? Once upon a time, I was a human. More recently, I was a human trapped in the body of a treacherous unicorn. Now? I’m apparently a confused individual in a strange pentagonal room, trapped in a body that isn’t his, in a place he doesn’t recognize, full of memories that aren’t his.

A guy can only get so much of his bearings by staring at the walls, however. Instead, I should be trying to find out what is going on, and how to get out of here. At least there is one useful bit of information I’ve gleaned by staring at the wall. The wall that I’ve arbitrarily labeled the fourth, is very different from the others. Whereas the other four walls are solid tone slabs, this one is a sheet of drywall, painted aquamarine. On the fourth wall, is a massive crack. Through that crack I can make out a door.

As a being in between Lyra and Soren, I can use this body’s magic to peel away the drywall. Haphazardly, I tear away the wall between me and the only exit available. As I do, however, I notice the chunks of drywall cease being drywall the moment I separate them from the wall, instead falling to the floor as large chunks of flesh covered in aquamarine fur. At the same time, that other presence seems to shrink away in fear.

Staring at the door, I cannot help but feel a shred of confusion. The door is a heavy door of banded iron, bearing an unmistakable visage painted on it. I find myself staring into Lyra’s cheerful face—my own face. What in the blazes is going on here? Why is Lyra’s face on a door in this place?

Tentatively, I pull the door open, revealing a long, white-enamel corridor. At the far side, I see another door. The space between the doors is brightly lit by the florescent lighting embedded in the ceiling. Along the floor is a metal grating, separating the chamber from an intense blackness below. In fact, I find it not dissimilar from the Rebel Alliance ship at the start of Star Wars: Episode IV - A New Hope. Aside from the doors—which seem wickedly out of place now that I’ve made the comparison—it’s almost exactly like the Rebel Alliance ship.

I barely spare the pentagonal room a second glance before crossing the threshold into the corridor. Almost as soon as my hooves cross onto the grating, my gut drops out from underneath me. I never get the chance to regret my foolhardy advance, however. No sooner than my harp-marked flanks passed the door did it swing closed with a resounding bang. That’s certainly not ominous in the least. A feeble attempt reveals the door to be rigidly in place.

Spurred forward by the only other exit hitting me in the arse, I trot along at a brisk pace. Oddly enough, when I look toward the door, it seems no closer. Concerned, I look back to the other door to verify that I’ve moved at all. To my relief, I am indeed half the corridor’s originally perceived length away from my entry point. I again look forward only to see that I’m looking forward as though I were still in front of the door. Weird!

As if sensing my perplexed mindset, all the lights in the corridor begin shutting off sequentially from the far doorway. Bathed in darkness, I swallow a lump rising in my throat and draw upon one of Lyra’s memories. Slowly, my horn fills the corridor with a dim teal light. With a shudder, I realize that the corridor has drastically changed, losing its white enamel luster, and taking on a... meaty appearance.

“Fuck,” I whimper in fear. “What the fuck is going on?”

As if to answer my question, the ceiling begins to tear, revealing a blackness not unlike the void beneath the grate, spilling copious amounts of black ichor everywhere. At the very edges of the tear I can just make out a pair of claws, before they vanish into the darkness. I’m vaguely aware that the other presence I felt in the five-walled room has returned, and it is far stronger this time. I turn my gaze back towards the door and futilely begin running towards it again.

My blood turns to ice-water as the feeling that I am being watched. Returning my gaze to the gash in the meaty ceiling, I’m horrified to see two bright gold eyes staring down out of the darkness. In an instant, the eyes draw closer, allowing my dim horn-light to play across a ghastly visage. It’s vaguely equine, fanged and very familiar. I’m looking at some sort of monstrous Lyra, and—hungry and angry—she’s looking right back at me. Her face is in bloody tatters, not unlike the fourth wall, but it’s unmistakably her.

With an inequine shriek, a claw darts forward out of the darkness, plucking me off of the metal grating. That hungry maw draws closer and closer. Every breath is a gust of air reeking of rancid meat. Struggling is useless against her incredible grip, so all I can do is soil myself in fear.

Then it occurs to me that she’s not the only one with teeth. Letting loose a scream, I bite down on one clawed finger with all my might. I almost regret it as the taste of rancid meat fills my mouth; I have to struggle not to vomit. I continue tightening my bite in spite of myself, and soon enough Lyra’s grip loosens enough for me to drop back to the grating in the meat hallway.

A strange rattling greets me as I land on the grate. A cursory glance reveals that the grating is now bone. Fuck it. This place is crazy! I begin running back towards the door I came in through, building up all the magic and telekinetic force I can muster into the horn. Then, just when I feel there’s no more for me to draw upon, I begin to tap even more. There’s just barely a second magical aura forming around my horn as the magic builds.

Drawing closer and closer to the door, my blood freezes once more. The corridor is filled with an almost demonic laughter. I blink my eyes once, and the door is suddenly that monstrous Lyra’s ghastly visage. She’s grinning at me wickedly, running her tongue along her inequine fangs. The damn thing is almost daring me to fill her belly.

“You wanna play it that way bitch?” I cry out, not bothering to fight back the tears. “Fine! I hope I fuckin’ choke you!”

I reach her face in a heartbeat. Just as she begins to bring her grisly mouth shut around me, my magic buildup explodes into a vicious, fiery telekinetic blast. Lyra’s face all but disintegrates, leaving only the open doorway back into my five-walled sanctuary. I let loose a relieved yip and leap through the door...

… and find myself rocketing off of a couch, tangled in blankets. My face skids along the floor, leaving a slightly bloody streak. Bringing a hoof up to my face, I find my nose bleeding, but otherwise undamaged. Tentatively, I stare past my hoof, only to realize that I’m back in my home! At least, I hope it is. Since I can’t pinch myself, I do the next best thing... I vigorously bite into my fetlock.

“Fuck, ow!” My yelp of pain is verily a great relief. “So... Not dreaming. Great!” I can see the patio door from my position here on the hardwood, but it’s dark out now. “... and I slept the whole day away.”

“You call that sleep?” my father anxiously replies from the padded chair in the living room. “For the first few hours, you were catatonic!”

“Yeah!” My mother’s voice carries from the far end of the couch. She’s every bit as anxious as my father. “Then, for the last three hours, you’ve been having some sort of night terror! You scared us half to death!”

It hits me that this shit is getting out of control, and it’s hitting my parents even harder than it is hitting me. It’s not the first time I’ve had this revelation, or at least, I hope it isn’t. Still, this has to stop. It isn’t fair to them!

“I’m so sorry...” I whimper staring at the floor. I’m kind of glad I haven’t bothered untangling myself from the blankets—had my mother brought them?—because right then, I feel like the only way I could feel lower was to burrow through the floor and into the basement. Hiding my head under my hooves would suffice for now, I guess. “I have some news, and it’s not at all good...”

“We know,” they reply in unison, sadness tinging their voices.

I glance up curiously from beneath my hooves at my father. “How?”

He points toward the laptop—of course! “After you went catatonic, we had a little talk with your transdimensional friends.”

“Gender bending, body snatching antics aside, they’re both really concerned for you. We’re both terrified, and we don’t know how to cope any more.” My mother is practically sobbing. “We asked Miss Sparkle if she’d be able to do anything for you.”

“She said that she couldn’t do anything from her side to help you, but she was researching something that could bring her here to bring you back with her.” Dad is just as hoarse. In spite of himself he lets out a laugh. “Just like some of those episodes of Stargate, eh?”

“Yeah...” I mumble. “So... What, I go with her for the remainder of the week?”

“I guess... but... If you can’t be cured or fixed, I’m not sure you’ll be able to come back at all...”

Great.

Author's Notes:

Re-edited 11 July 2017