Now at this point, you're probably expecting me to go into every detail of my explanation to my family. I won't bore you with my in depth retelling of what I told my parents about Equestria and Lyra, everything—good and bad—about the fandom, my becoming a Brony, or how I started writing pony fan-fiction, before finishing with how I came to be in the shape that I am. It's about as boring as a bathroom monologue can be expected to be. Instead, all that should matter are their reactions.

As I go through my explanation, my parents are dead quiet. They exchange a few disgusted looks when I get to the dark side of the fandom, yet still they remain silent. Finally, when I get into my state as a Brony and how I use ponies as an excuse to reflex my creative muscles, I get a mixed reaction. My mother is somewhat impressed when I express that I've written a novel worth in my writing project, but my father is disappointed that I'm not using completely original material. I think he missed the part of the seminar going over why I did fan-fiction in the first place.

Hillary and Klein's reactions are a bit more lively. While my sister is genuinely intrigued as I go into everything about Equestria and the show, Klein makes it clear that he finds the whole concept of the show to be stupid. Despite beginning by pointing out that every fandom has its share of bad apples, Klein is immediately against Bronies as soon as he hears about the more 'adult oriented' portion of the community. Even Hillary seems disgusted, and may or may not have implied that there's something wrong if I associate with those sorts of people. Needless to say, they aren't at all interested in my writing.

When it comes to Valerie, I can't predict her reaction. On one hand, Harriet apparently watches one of the My Little Pony generations—I can't say with any certainty that it was G4—but on the other, the fandom seems to make her pretty uncomfortable. Of course when it comes to the fandom part, I levitated Valerie's hands to cover her daughter's ears. At first, she and everybody else—except of course my niece—begins to panic, but as soon as I begin going into the family-unfriendly things involved in the fandom, she at least seems thankful.

All the while, my niece is sitting on the edge of the tub right beside me stroking my mane or playing with my ears. I still don't think she understands that I'm her Uncle Soren. It is a pretty out-there thing for an adult to believe, never mind a seven-year-old girl. I'm pretty sure she's stuck in 'Oh my god, unicorn!' mode and that nothing will dissuade her from that perspective. At least it was fun for her while I used her mother's hands to cover her ears. I really don't want to be the person to ruin anyone's childhood before it's even over.

Fast-forward fifteen minutes. I'm now lying on the livingroom couch in typical Lyra fashion—thank god for the blanket that's supposed to be draped across the back of the couch—hoping the novelty of the unicorn will wear off for Harriet. It's an empty wish, I know. No child her age is going to lose interest until she's told it's time to go home. Even then, she'll probably want to come back tomorrow, and the day after that, and so forth. Except for Valerie, everybody else is in the dining room.

Even as my niece fixates on one of my front hooves—apparently they're pretty—her mother is sitting right there in the armchair, watching like a hawk. I'm not sure if she's uncomfortable with me now that she's heard of the clop side of the fandom, or if I'll flip out in true horse fashion and accidentally injure Harriet, but she hasn't left the room once.

“You don't trust me now, do you?” I ask sullenly, as my niece hugs me close like a giant plush toy. Her mother's eye twitches ever so slightly at the sight. “I suppose I don't blame you. This nonsense is ten different shades of freaky, and in finding out I'm part of what seems like a cult of perverts to you, you probably think I'm some kind of monster. Just remember that outside this physical change, I'm no different than I was before you found out about the Bronies.”

“Soren, I’m not sure what to think.” She shakes her head. “All of this is a lot to take in at once.” With an anxious glance, she stares straight at my horn. “That thing you did with my hands... it scares me. It's not natural.”

“You and me both, sister.” Did... I really just say that? “I didn’t mention that I accidentally detonated a telephone, or that I nearly concussed myself with it moments prior, just trying to figure out this magic.”

Valerie doesn't seem to like that news one bit. Anxiously she wrings her hands. As a nurse, I can kinda see why; hands are important in medicine. “Is there anything else you can do with your magic?” she asks, clearly trying not to think about what could have happened to her hands. “I mean, it’s magic right?”

“Theoretically, yes.” I levitate the blanket off of me and wiggle out of my niece’s grasp. As I drop to the floor, I catch her averting her eyes from my momentary nudity, embarrassed. “Yeah, it weirds me out too, but there’s no need to be embarrassed. It’s a bit different from a human, but it’s nothing you haven't seen before.

“Anyway, yeah, there’s probably a lot I could do with proper instruction, but I’m not crazy enough to try anything like that.” I stagger towards the kitchen, hoping to nab myself another apple. “If it had been Twilight Sparkle—the scholarly apprentice to their leader, Princess Celestia—to make the switch, I might have at least been given some documentation on things to help me get by. Twilight’s prepared and organized like that. Lyra on the other hand, is all enthusiasm.”

Every step of the way, my niece is right beside me. She seems to be seriously considering hopping on my back. “Please don’t,” I whisper before reaching the fridge. I want to eat some more, but first I have to do all that song and dance in order to get access to the fridge. Maybe I don’t have to, though. I cast a glance at Harriet, before levitating the stool from the alcove and placing it in front of the fridge. “Harriet, would you please be a dear and help me get an apple from the fridge? This isn’t exactly the easiest form to do things in.”

She looks expectantly to her mother, and after a nod from Valerie, she climbs up onto the stepstool. “I’d love to, Miss Unicorn!” She pulls open the door and retrieves an apple from the crisper. “We can have a picnic in the living room, just you me and mommy!” Then I notice she’s not pulling out just one apple. Her arms continue filling with apples until I kindly levitate them out of her grip and place them on the counter.

Then, without warning, she goes for the basement door. “Harriet, what are you doing?”

“I want the doggies to come up for the picnic too!” she says with a smile, opening the door.

All at once, two small black dogs shoot out from the basement door, barking and growling. An instant later, the golden retriever bowls past Harriet, leaving the girl comically spinning on the spot. Before I can even react, the two small dogs are nipping at my forelegs, while the larger one begins growling savagely, and approaching in a menacing manner the way only a dog protecting his family would.

“Guys, a little help in here!” I whimper. I’m not usually afraid of dogs—kind of stupid to own them if you are—but when I’m having flashbacks to an attack that occurred the last time I was three feet tall, I think I have a right to be on the pants-shitting level of scared. “Get them away from me before—Eeep!”

The golden retriever throws himself at me, knocking me onto my back. He’s on top of me in an instant, snapping at my throat. Only the way I’ve got my hooves under his chest is keeping me from being killed. What can I do though? They’re still my pets! “Romulus, Sodom, Gomorrah! Back off!”

I hear a door slam, and then claws at a door. “Sodom and Gomorrah are in the bathroom now.” It’s my Dad. Without warning, Romulus jerks off of me for a moment. Then I hear a snarl and then my father shouts in pain. “Damn it, he bit me. What’s gotten into him?”

“I don’t know,” I cry, on the verge of sobbing. I can’t explain it—hormones maybe?—but I feel a lot more vulnerable to my emotions like this. “Just get him off of me before I do something I’ll regret!”

What might I do that I would regret? I could launch the dog into the ceiling. I could make him explode. Heck, I could even crush his heart! I don’t want to do this, but the panic growing inside me is begging me to let it lash out. Wouldn’t it be easier that way?

I don’t have time to consider any of it. Romulus is pulled off of me again, but not before biting down hard on my front left foreleg. It isn’t enough to tear the white sock, or the muscles, but it was excruciating enough for me to let out an inhuman scream of agony. Any shred of masculine dignity I had disappears as I break down sobbing.

A snarling bark can be heard one last time as Dad throws him out onto the deck. No longer held to the floor by a dog that weighs as much as—if not more than—me, I blink the tears from my eyes. I glare up at the apples on the counter, and snatch up a bunch in a telekinetic field before limping off towards the entrance hall.

“Soren, wai—”

“Just leave me alone!” I whimper before letting out a snotty sniffle. While my leg is definitely not broken, it hurts to put any weight on it. You can imagine how hard actually getting up the stairs is when you only have three legs to walk on and you’re focusing on not dropping or converting your apples into sauce. I don’t even care about whether splitting my attention from the apples to open and close my bedroom door is a good idea. I just want to be alone.

With the door closed again, I once again break into sobs. Why did this have to happen? Why do the dogs seem to have such an issue with Lyra’s body? Why is my mind the plaything of this body? I cannot help but shudder at that last question. If my mind is a plaything of the body, does that mean I’m going to be even more feminized further into the week? What if I enter estrus? Oh god, why did I even think that last one?

It’s a horrible thing, to be so at odds with your mind. The more you don’t want to think about things, the more they tend to assail you again and again. Eventually, it takes over every operating frequency until you just want to scream. Wanna go to bed. Can’t; I’m a pony. Wanna go to the loo. Can’t; I’m a pony. Wanna live a normal goddamn life. Can’t; I’m a motherfucking pony!

Fed up with it all, I tug my bedding off of the bed, and curl up on it with my apples. Yes, that’s right. I’m going to bed with my dinner. That’s how well I’m coping with things: I’m just going to curl up with a bunch of apples on a pile of blankets and clothes on the floor, because that makes so much goddamn sense. This day can’t be over fast enough, and I’m not answering my door no matter how many concerned calls come from the other side.

“What a day,” I sob into my hooves. “Oh how I’d have preferred Equestria to this.”

Author's Notes:

Edited by ReFro.

Re-edited 10 July 2017