BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

The sound of an alarm clock rouses me from my restful slumber. No matter how many times I attempt to permanently cripple the darn thing, it always comes back to haunt me. Stupid pony-resistant materials are always raining on my parade.

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! CLUNK!

With a sigh, I slam a hoof down on the beeping monstrosity. I don't want to get up, but I don't really have a choice; Ms. Juno will be riding my flank if I'm not up by 9:30 a.m., and that was the 9:15 iteration of the 'stop your damned sleeping' alarm. Celestia knows if I'm late for this afternoon's appearance, she'll have me grounded figuratively and literally.

Pulling myself out of bed, I can't help but groan at the thought of my live-in personal assistant. Sure, I'm a pony living on Earth, but do I really need a personal assistant/taskmaster? The Canadian government seems to think so, and given that the Equestrian leadership is in part sponsoring my being here, I suppose I can't complain. She certainly is a big help in coping with Hasbro and their attempts to get me to land their representatives a meeting with the Equestrian Ambassador.

I look around at my bedroom. My apartment is nothing at all fancy, but everything in my bedroom is custom made for my small stature; my sponsors at the embassy spared no expense. Off to one side of the room is a pony-sized oak vanity, accompanying an oak chest for my clothes. Being a pony, I don't need to dress much any more, but I still have one or two pieces for special occasions in addition to my regular pieces. Finally, a pony-sized bookshelf by my bed is stocked with a mixture of Equestrian and human literature—Daring Do and Indiana Jones, mostly, with a smattering of science fiction for good measure.

Trotting out the open door, I catch but a glimpse of Ms. Juno in the kitchenette. Quickly ducking into the bathroom, I close and lock the door before Ms. Juno offers her assistance. It's nothing personal; I just can't enjoy feeling a bit independent if she's even trying to help me with my personal hygiene. So what if I can't really towel off by myself?

After attending to the call of nature, using the smaller of the two toilets in the chamber, I clamber into the shower. If there's anything I hate most about this apartment, it's the shower. It's one of those cramped standing showers designed for humans. In spite of multiple requests to the super, nopony will come and make something a bit more pony-friendly. Still, it gets the job done.

While drying off was pretty simple during my time in Lyra's body, nothing compares to just how easy it really is for a pegasus. The gentle aura manipulation required for controlling the weather and manipulating clouds also allows one to manipulate their water resistance. In that sense I can allow myself to get wet and clean, and then force the water off of me in moments—no towel necessary!

With a bit of a chuckle, I trot back into my room and position myself in front of the vanity. My hoof automatically dips for the hairbrush, knowing full well I need to look my best today. If they can't trust the only pony with citizenship in two dimensions to look her best on camera, who can you trust.

“Here, let me do your mane,” my assistant offers, crouching down behind me. “You just worry about making your wings presentable.”

Shooting a glare at the woman in the mirror, my blue eyes meet her more cyan eyes in a contest of wills. “Just what's that supposed to mean?” I reply in an ill-amused tone. “What's wrong with my wings?”

“Oh nothing!” she says, putting her hands up defensively. “They'll just love you flying in like you just came out of bed.” To make her point, she daintily grabs one of my wing-tips, stretching my wing out behind me so that it is visible in the mirror.

“Alright, so I’ve been neglecting preening for the last two days.” I whine, twisting my neck to tend to some of the disheveled gray feathers on that wing. “In my defense, I’ve been trying desperately to get back to work on my memoir on the events that lead to the meeting of the worlds. Writing isn’t easy with hooves or feathers, you know.”

I switch over to the other wing while she begins brushing the long silvery strands running down the back of my neck. “Why is it that they want me to go on camera and give a little blurb about ‘Equestria: Our Interdimensional Neighbors’ again, anyway? Why not the Princesses or the Bearers of Harmony?”

“Ambassador Fancypants believes that you are the best choice as you’ve spent time in both worlds as a neutral party. Until the magic suppressors enter mass production, no human can visit Equestria without conversion effects taking place.” My caretaker sounds almost wistful as she puts a scrunchie around the back length of my mane. “In a way you and the diplomats are all lucky; you just have to take magic supplements every day.”

A throb of pain washes through my mind, but I can’t quite seem to understand why. “Lucky,” I mutter, unsure of why exactly it is that I don’t feel it. “That’s one way to put it.” Catching sight of the alarm clock in the mirror, I see the time is quarter to ten in the morning. “Speaking of supplements, shouldn’t I eat soon?”

“Oh, that reminds me. You need to stop by the Equestrian Embassy on your way back.” Rising up, she turns towards the door. “You’re on your last magic supplement pill today.”

There’s something to be said about gliding above town, free of the trappings of streets and traffic. Indeed, as I cross Dartmouth by air, the only thing I really need to worry about is the pollution thrown up by the Imperial Oil Refinery down in the Woodside area, but even that is only a partial nuisance. It’s just a matter of pulling my scarf over my face and dropping my flight goggles over my eyes.

There’s even a certain sense of power in flying over my old stomping grounds. I reckon it has a lot to do with the sense of ‘I can go anywhere, any time’. How could you not feel empowered by being outside the normal laws of road speed, pedestrian crossing, and bridge tolls? By completely bypassing traffic and roads, you can get anywhere you want in no time at all.

Even if my little interview is at the CBC production facility in Downtown Halifax, across the harbor, I don’t have to be there until noon. That in itself is plenty of incentive to peel off to the northwest to fly a detour over the Bedford Basin. The novelty of being able to fly over familiar waters might have long since worn off for Equestrian pegasi, but for me, such a thing is still incredibly novel—especially given my former laziness as a human.

Reaching the Halifax side of the harbor, I bank to my left and realign myself southbound, taking me over Halifax proper. From this height and elevation, I can even make out the Equestrian Embassy out on McNab’s island in the harbor. Every time I see that place, instead of wondering the obvious question of why they would set up on a mostly forested island just shy of a thousand acres, accessible only by private boat or helicopter, I always wonder how the diplomats convinced the provincial and federal government to relinquish the 50 acres of land to a foreign power.

Even months after first contact, I still can’t figure out Celestia’s motives for offering services reducing pollution, restoring destitute lands, and helping world hunger. I mean, yeah, what teams of pegasi and earth ponies could do for nations in Africa is amazing, but what at all is she getting out of it? This isn’t that Conversion Bureau nonsense, after all.

A momentary headache spike tells me that it’s time to stop dawdling and get to the CBC studio. I’m no good to interview if I have some sort of accident and come crashing through the roof. After all the stair and pool incidents in Lyra’s body, I swore off accidents forever.

Shortly after arriving at the CBC production studio, I’m ushered onto a set. It’s nothing fancy, really—just a tall table, two human-oriented chairs, and cameras before a drab backdrop. Perched in one chair is a portly looking news anchor, smiling waving genially at me. Just off the main set—much to my surprise—is Ms. Juno, arguing with a stagehand, pointing at the chair and pantomiming to emphasize the awkwardness human chairs for ponies.

In a moment of distraction, Ms. Juno catches sight of me, and jogs across the set towards me. “Apologies, Silver, but there seems to have been some sort of miscommunication.” She glares at the approaching stagehand. “Someone thought you would be fine in this sort of setup.”

I glance at the set and then back to the stagehand. “Would it be fine if someone just brings up a pillow and set it on that table?” I ask.

The stagehand looks a bit stupefied, as though the idea never crossed her mind. “I suppose we can do that,” she replies, her cheeks reddening. “but wouldn’t that mess up camera angles?”

Before I can say anything, Ms. Juno jumps in. “It should be perfectly fine.” Her facial expression is completely calm, but there’s a cold edge in her voice. “She’s a bit on the diminutive side compared to most Equestrians her age. She’d be at complete eye-level with your reporter, which I’d assume is exactly what you’d want with this sort of interview. After all, you wouldn’t want to imply that Equestrians aren’t equal to humans, right?”

“R-right.” the stagehand answers, looking rather pale. She quickly runs off, looking very chastened.

The minutes pass rather quickly, and before long Ms. Juno ushers me onto the set—still wearing my flight scarf and goggles—with a big smile. Much to the reporter’s delight, I make a show of flying up and landing gently on the pillow on the table in front of him. It’s the sort of thing that you almost hope on the recording; it’s certainly enough to leave a smile on my face.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen! I’m Dan Rathburn, and this is a special edition of the Rathburn Report,” he says in a rich, charismatic voice. “Many of you no doubt recall all of the media attention lately regarding the newcomers to planet Earth’s international scene. For those who don’t, some time ago, a civilization from what can only be classified as a realm ‘perpendicular’ to our own made first contact. There was much confusion and skepticism, as many pointed out that our interdimensional visitors matched perfectly the appearances of characters from Hasbro’s ‘My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic’ television series and toyline.

“There was a big shake-up in the world when our new ‘neighbors’, if you’ll pardon the pun, came offering not war or destruction, but peace, trade and climate control.” He offers a smile at his own pun before motioning towards me. I can only assume the camera is now on me, so I give a polite nod back to him. “Our guest here is a very special Equestrian. Silver Script, formerly Soren Friedrich, is the only known individual with dual-citizenship in both Equestria, and Canada.”

With prompting from offstage, I offer a modest hello before allowing Dan to continue. “Miss Script—or may I call you Silver?” I nod once. “—has been nice enough to answer a few questions here today about Equestria.

“First, how did you come to be a pony, if you don’t mind my asking?”

A shiver of anxiety courses through me, knowing I’m now the focus of the cameras. “Well, it all started one morning a few months ago...” I break off into a rather abridged retelling of the events leading up to my visit to Equestria, taking time only to emphasize on my exploding computer, and Lyra’s misconduct that eventually lead to my body’s magical sex-change and pony transformation. Throughout my retelling, Dan makes a believable effort of looking bothered by some of my troubles adapting to my new form while I occupied Lyra’s body.

My vision blinks with static once, and then twice again. “... and once I got to Equestria, things became rather peaceful.” My head throbs as I say it. “What else would you like to ask?”

“Actually, your last statement there was rather interesting, so I’d like to continue from there.” Dan idly shuffles some papers in front of him—were those there before?—as he pauses to think. “It says here that after a party held by one Pinkamena Diane Pie, you engaged in certain illicit activities with the individual Lyra Heartstrings—whose body you were occupying at the time—and her sex-flipped lover, Bon-Bon. What was going through your mind at the time?”

An iceberg of terror crashes through my heart. That isn’t right! It can’t be! “What? No, I—”

“Were you not acting like a drunken beast in heat that night?”

I look to Ms. Juno, locking my eyes on her cyan ones. What’s going on here? Why are they saying these hurtful, disgusting things? I thought this was supposed to be a rapport-building interview! She only looks away, as though disappointed.

“Fine... How about the events surrounding the death of a foal by the name of Pound Cake.” His voice drops into an icy tone. “Did you or did you not chase this child into a notoriously dangerous forest?”

“No, I was trying to stop—” I bury my face in my hooves, as if that might somehow deflect his questions and the strange pains they bring to my heart.

“During your stay, were you or were you not treated like a mentally deteriorating incompetent?”

“STOP IT!” I scream, my eyes clenched shut. “STOP SAYING THESE THINGS! THEY AREN’T TRUE!”

The tinkling of broken glass fills my ears, followed by wind washing across my body. When I open my eyes, I’m on a foggy gray plain. In the grass surrounding me are tiny shards of glass that, upon further inspection, bear partial images of the set that I was on just moments before. My head aches terribly each and every time my heart beats.

I bring a hoof up to my head, as though hoping to stop the world from spinning on its axis. Much to my shock and horror, I see not gray fur but aquamarine. Indeed, when I inch my hoof up to my forehead, that unmistakable horn is there as well. What’s going on? Wasn’t I having an interview?

“Isn’t it though?” a vaguely familiar voice coos at me through the fog. “Are those not truths you refuse to accept? Am I not a part of you?” An ethereal, gray and white pegasus mare steps out of the fog towards me, her blue eyes glinting like sapphires in some unseen light. “Boo hoo hoo, my life is so troubled! I can’t act responsible, and I just want to run away from everything that turns to shit! Maybe both worlds are better without me.”

“S-shut up!” I stammer at my unearthly spectre. It’s not that what she says is wrong. Rather, everything she says strikes true in my heart—painfully so. “Just leave me alone! Haven’t I been through enough?”

The doppelganger smiles viciously—a feat I thought impossible for Equestrian faces—and tramps through the gray grass toward me. “Oh woe is me, I’m losing my mind and someone I trusted took advantage of me in a weakened state,” she practically spits, her every word shooting ice through my veins. “I can’t even protect keep a foal from running into the woods and getting killed!”

Tears rim my eyes as I stare at the snarling visage of the not-me. “You’re right; I can’t,” I agree in a pitiful tone. “So what? Not everyone can. So what if Equestria and Earth might be better without me? You want me to just lie down and die? This isn’t some Shin Megami Tensei shit. I’m not going to just have a pissing contest with the darkness in my heart and come out stronger for it. That’s not how this works, as much as I might wish it.”

I look away from the apparition. “So where do I go from here?” I ask without expecting an answer. “I can’t just forget and forgive.”

Somehow, I can feel the apparition smiling. “What’s gone is forever lost,” she responds in agreement. “All you can do is live.” Another tinkle of shattering glass rings out behind me. Turning back to face the apparition, I’m just in time to see her disintegrating into a cloud of diamond dust, along with the blades of grass on the plain.

Despite it all, I still don’t feel alone here. Even as the last traces of the doppelganger and grass vanish, I can feel somepony’s gaze on me, watching me from beyond the fog. It’s actually comforting. For the first time in weeks, being a dream is actually comforting.

“You can come out now, Princess,” I whisper softly as I lay sprawled out on the ground beneath me. I can’t help but suppress a giggle as the dream transitions to shadows.

Like a breeze on a spring evening, Princess Luna materializes beside me in the darkness. Her the stars in her mane glitter intently, even in this near blackness. Likewise, her eyes glimmer with ageless knowledge and wisdom. There are the makings of a wan smile on her muzzle. “Greetings to you, Soren Friedrich.” She gives a giggle of her own. “How long have you known, if I may ask?”

Placing a hoof on my chin, I pause. When did I realize it? “Gosh, I think from the beginning I had some idea that this was all a dream.” I look at her intently. “Or at least, a manufactured dream.”

Again, the Princess smiles. “Was there some giveaway I was not aware of?” At least she’s not questioning why I expected her to be in control of the realm of dreams. “Most ponies do not even recognize when they are in one of my conjured dreams.”

With a smirk, I look the Princess right in the eyes. “Most humans don’t have such vivid cyan eyes, your highness.” I respectfully lower my gaze before continuing. “Besides, for me, that was too coherent a dream. Why did it change like that in the end, though? That was incredibly cruel of you.”

“It was not I that directed the dream that way, young one.” Her voice is soft, but there is no hiding the affronted tone. To my surprise, I feel a booted hoof on my withers. “Grief is but one powerful emotion. It is one of the few powerful enough to dispel certain magical arts, such as dreamshaping. Your grief over the events of the past two days shattered my grip on the dream, and your subconscious took hold.”

Looking back up at the Princess, I can’t help but feel confused. “How...” My eyes widen with realization. Of course Twilight would write to the royalty. If Luna is here in my dream, then she knows where I am. She could simply be stalling for time; the Royal Guard could be bearing down on my location, and I would be able to put up nary a fight. I’ve been used... again! My own sleep has betrayed me now!

Scrambling to my hooves, I quickly back away. “Stay back!” My growl reverberates through the darkness, shaking even the ground beneath me. “I will not be used again!”

The Princess’s appearance flickers once in the darkness. Her coat darkens to match the shadows, while her pupils elongate into slits. “Please, calm down!” The vicious tone of Nightmare Moon chills me to the bone. “I mean you no har—”

“GET ME OUT OF HERE!” I scream, and the very fabric of unreality shreds itself around me.

Author's Notes:

Well, got this out sooner than I expected. This came out roughly as I imagined it. The memories of the first night when inspiration hit me had somewhat degraded, so I went with what I had and winged the rest.

Some of you are probably wondering why Soren didn't remember certain things during the dream, or why things felt normal to him up until a certain point. Dreams are tricky things, you must understand. Not only do they open doorways to unknown realms, dreams also have a habit of instilling their victims with false memories so not to break the illusion. Thus, Soren knew Juno, and knew about everything that happened since first contact.

That being said, this isn't a vision of the future, but instead a possible outcome.

Yes yes, there is a not so hidden jab at Shin Megami Tensei: Persona 4 there. That being said, I did make another reference to a song somewhere in this chapter.

Edit: I will hold off on starting the next chapter for at least a week. Got a lot going on what with Christmas.

Merry Christmas and Happy Hearth Warming, everypony.

Re-edited 12 July 2017