The feeling of the ground shaking beneath me draws me out of my slumber. I realize with a start that I’m not in my room when a breeze washes over me. Wearily and warily, I force my eyes open and look around me. What I see causes my jaw to drop.

I recognize the setting immediately, despite having never been here in my life. When you do enough research about a place to be able to describe it, you’ll never forget it. Towering above me is a flagpole that could only be on Liberty Island, not far from the Statue of Liberty. Curiously enough, there are only ponies and a single human standing around me. Chief among them are Princess Luna and Twilight Sparkle, but with just a glance, I quickly realize I’m surrounded by the rest of the mane six and the Cutie Mark Crusaders.

All of them stare at me confusedly. Twilight looks uncertain as she looks from me to the human. “Warren,” she asks. “Why did you turn Discord into a filly?”

The human shrugs—something I imagine to be quite uncomfortable, seeing his chest bound and one arm in a sling. “It wasn’t me,” he says passively, adjusting the ill-fitting glasses on his face. Crouching down in front of me, he extends his hand as though allowing me to sniff him. “How did you get here, little pony?”

Warren... No way... I stare at the man incredulously, taking in his unfamiliar face and orange-blonde hair, and those curious green-flecked magenta eyes. “Warren? Warren Ashland?” I whimper.

Exchanging a wary, almost concerned look with the Princess and Twilight. “You... know me?”

Unable to contain my amusement, I laugh loudly. “Oh wow,” I giggle. “This is fucking rich.” The ponies watch on in horror as I break into an uncontrolled laughing fit. “Really, this is too much!”

“What’s so funny?” one of the Crusaders asks. I couldn’t tell who with how hard I’m laughing. “None of this is funny!”

“Oh but it is, my little ponies!” I bark. “You see, none of this is real. You aren’t real, Warren. You’re just a character in a made-up fanfic based on the world these ponies live in. The humor is that if I’m here... it means I’m dreaming!

“If I’m dreaming, that means I can do whatever I want!” I say gleefully. “Like this...” I blink and all the ponies in front of me are gone. In their place is a large pile of disembodied human breasts. “You see, Warren, you’re just a figment of my imagination—something invented for my amusement and that of others.”

I giggle playfully, looking from the pile of breasts to Warren’s own blushing expression. It’s rather cute that even upon being declared a non-entity and naught but a projection of my mind he remains so... animated. It almost makes me feel bad knowing that he won’t exist soon. Blinking again, he’s returned to the form of a small yellow unicorn colt, as I first wrote more than a year ago. “Cheer up, Goldenrod!”

He looks at me in horror, shifting on his hooves uneasily. “Why are you doing this?” he whines in a much higher tone. “I don’t understand!”

Looking thoughtful for a moment, I give him a sincere smile. “That’s okay, hon,” I tease. “In a moment, you won’t even exist, and then I’m going to invite the mare of my dreams to frolic on this gigantic pile of tits.”

“What—” is as far as he gets before he’s gone, literally in the blink of an eye. Left alone to my devices—devices meaning breast mountain—I can’t help but feel absolutely giddy, and maybe a bit drunk with power. After all, this is just a dream, so I can pretty much do anything I want until I wake up, right? I could even be a human again if I wanted to.

Try as I might though, I can’t seem to bring myself to do it. It’s not that I don’t want to; if anything, being human again is the one thing I want most in the world. Why can’t I do it then? Looking deep into myself, I search desperately for that mental image of myself, some memory of my reflection, anything! No matter how hard I try though, one face keeps coming up—one silver, very equine face. It’s the face of Silver Script—me.

As quickly as my excitement rose, it plummets back to the ground at terminal velocity. Any shred of giddiness or happiness at being able to experience a lucid dream is gone now, replaced by a deep melancholy. Leave it to me to take a good thing and make it bad in the blink of an eye.

Sullenly climbing the pile of breasts, I barely notice the dream world crumbling around me. The pile doesn’t even feel like flesh. Sure, it’s warm and soft, but it feels more like a well-heated cloud or maybe even my bed. I don’t even feel like conjuring up a dream image of Ice Blossom. Instead I settle on imagining up a plushie of the best Princess, and cuddling it much as a child might.

So, I lay there embracing a stuffed simulacrum of Princess Luna atop a pile of breasts, just avoiding thought. Not only am I a bit curious about how long I can prolong this state without doing anything, I wish to know how long it would last with my mind unthinking. Of course I’m not ever not thinking, and it quickly occurs to me whether or not one can fall asleep in a lucid dream and re-enter a normal sleep-state.

Too soon I am robbed of that curious objective as an adorable voice speaks out from close to me. “For a pony of such curious dreams, I must say this is tame even for you, Silver Script.” I look around, startled by the invasion of my dream, and clutch the doll closer, as though it could possibly protect me. It is only when that voice speaks once more that I pinpoint its origin: the doll is talking. “Is something the matter? My subject?”

Crying out in surprise, I unwittingly send Princess Luna’s plush form spiralling through the air. “W-why do you think something is wrong, Your Highness?” My body sinks into the pile of mammaries until only my eyes peer out at the royal effigy now standing at the base of the pile.

“Even if you weren’t cuddling an admittedly cute representation of myself atop a mountainous gathering of human mammae, I could not miss your dream bubble,” she says through that unmoving mouth of the doll, though there is no tone of disapproval. The Princess doesn’t even need to see my face to know I am confused. If I can feel my confusion rolling off of me, she certainly can as well. “Never before have I seen one of my subjects attain lucidity in their dreams, only to turn the atmosphere sombre.”

With a sigh, I pull myself out of the pile, mentally dismissing it as I descend before the princess. “I can’t remember my own face,” I croak. “I don’t remember what I used to look like as a human.”

Luna cocks her head, eliciting from my mind a momentary ponderance as to why she hasn’t assumed a more articulate form. Try as I might, I cannot seem to alter the doll she is projecting through. Is she trying to comfort me by staying in this form?

“You feel like who you were is being eroded by who you are?”

Shaking my head, I resist the urge to look into her eyes, as that would mean looking down upon her. “Not as such, no.” Sucking in a breath, I lower myself to the floor in order to look her in the face. “I feel like who I was is completely different and incompatible with who I am now. I can’t even remember how long it’s been since I’ve actually thought about becoming human again. Even if it is an impossible goal, it shouldn’t have taken me this long to realize that I’ve ignored it for so long that I can’t even remember the face I was born with.”

“You have been busy,” she reasons.

“Silver has been busy,” I reply, looking away. “Soren’s been dead for months now, I think, and the thing is that I’m not sure I like who Silver is over who Soren was.”

“... and who is Silver to you?” the Princess asks curiously, managing to pull back my gaze. “What do you see yourself as?”

My eyes widen at the question. Who and what is Silver Script? “She’s a very hurt mare, struggling to fit in a world she only pretends to understand. Everything is so foreign to her and yet so very the same.” Luna nods along, as though she’d expected this much. “Only recently has she even come to grips with the indelible fact that she is a mare and that she should not deny herself self-indulgence because she’s holding onto memories of what she was and what she’s been through. If only she’d come to terms with that on her own,” I answer, turning sour on the last note, making abundantly clear that it isn’t something I want to talk about..

“Soren used to spend so much time debating things only to ultimately come to an answer at the last minute, and yet Silver is far more spontaneous. Whereas he would try many things and end up sticking to none, she practically does things as she goes and sticks to them like glue.” I feel my cheeks dampen slightly. “She’s everything that he wasn’t. It makes me feel... less than human, being this mare.”

“Is this what scares you? Losing your humanity?”

“It scares me to death!” I sniffle, shutting my eyes.

Once again startling me, Princess Luna—and I don’t mean doll-Luna—nuzzles me, bidding me to rise. “My dear subject,” she says smiling knowingly. “You’re scared because you’ve misidentified your identity as your humanity. While your identity has been irrevocably altered by your experiences and learnings, your humanity will never leave you. Your humanity—your ways of thinking, feeling, and acting—is something you’ll never lose. While you are becoming more like a pony with each passing day, in the end, your equinity is ultimately building on the foundation of your humanity.

“Unless you let something terrible and evil take hold of you, you’ll never need worry about losing either. Remember this.”

Sitting down at my desk with a stack of exams and an answer sheet, I smile at the professor before withdrawing my quill and ink bottle from my saddlebags. “I know I offered a five percent bonus on the final grade of anypony who volunteered to assist me in grading the exams, but I think it’s safe to say you’ll do perfectly fine without an extra five percent bolstering,” Professor Calcification says in that dusty voice of antiquity. That much is true, though, as my grades have consistently held near ninety-four throughout the term. “Go on, I’m sure you have plans with your friends. I don’t mind.”

I can’t resist a chuckle as I peer at the rest of the classroom through the corner of my eye. As my head inclines to indicate the rest of the room, the corners of my mouth pull upward into a knowing smile. “Sorry, sir,” I reply sincerely. “I volunteered because I knew nopony else thought they needed to do so. It seem like I’m implying that you need my help, but you aren’t a young stud any more. You might not need help, but you’ll certainly benefit from it.”

Professor Calcification nods. “Thank you, Silver Script. You’re very kind,” he says, submitting to my stubborn offer of help. “You’ll drive your special somepony mad like that, but I think you’ll definitely be there for them when it matters most.” He pauses to give me a playful wink. “Now, just remember to follow the answer key for the multiple choice, true-or-false, and fill in the blank portions of the exam. As much as you might want to grade them based on their spelling and grammar, as long as they include points listed in the short-answer questions and essay portion of the key in the appropriate answers, they get the points. You get five discretionary bonus points per exam to deal out for any outstanding answers. Once you’ve done your stack, go on and join your friends, alright?”

There’s no opening for discussion there, since he’s clearly no more enthused about the part of actually grading the exams than I am. Of course, it’s no great surprise. This is the most important piece for the grades of many ponies, and he would have to take it very seriously. Barely a moment has passed and he’s already hard at work poring over the exam in front of him.

Following his lead, I pull the first exam packet off of my stack and set it beside the answer key. As I give the multiple choice and true-or-false sections a couple of run-throughs to ensure I have it memorized, my eyes are drawn away from the key to the name written on the cover sheet, and I nearly laugh out loud. Scrawled in an almost childish form of the Equestrian script is Princess Aqua Regia, the i’s in her name dotted with hearts and everything. I’d almost call it cute if I didn’t already know her as the hateful witch that she is.

If I said that I’m not at all tempted to grade her unfairly, nopony who knew what she did would honestly blame me. Heck, it was hard enough just getting Gale—the only individual to date who knows what happened, and that’s because she wouldn’t stop asking until I told her—to drop the idea of hunting her down and tearing out her liver. The last thing I want is more attention drawn to that issue. Even if Aqua did get her just desserts, everypony would know how little a fight I put up, and then the rumors would spread. Any reputation I have would be ruined, and all of my friends would probably be ashamed of knowing me. It’s embarrassing enough admitting that I was sexually assaulted by this mare.

A bit of bile rises in my throat when I realize that I’m defending not reporting her after what she’s done. She did more than just rape me while her accessories held me down and watched. It isn’t even about the dignity she robbed me of; I managed to regain a bit when I... ugh... No, what she did was worse than just rape. She forced me to discover my body sexually—to realize through the most twisted of methods that there is something pleasurable for me as a mare—and thus robbing me of becoming truly comfortable in it. Were I a foal and not a human-turned pony already having been intimate before, I’d go so far as to say she stole my innocence.

Why shouldn’t I get to make her life a living hell? I have every right to! Still, if I go out of my way to sabotage her exam, I’ll be no better than she is. Looking through her multiple choice section, I wouldn’t need to put a lot of effort into that anyways. No, seriously. Some of these questions are the easiest ones on the exam, and yet she answered that alchemical silver is rich in rubedo and vermillion! Given the effort she put into tormenting me, you’d think she’d at least know the properties of the material I’m named for. To make things worse, her answer to whether or not the crucified snake, named for Neighcolas Flamel—seriously, Equestria?—represents removing the volatile aspects of a potion is false! It’s like she didn’t even pay attention at all.

Going further into her test, I’m almost at the point of noticing a pattern. If I look at the answer key, and imagine it as a cipher, the answers are right if you moved them one place in one direction. At first, I had to actually double-check, but the pattern is definitely there. The circle for the first answer has the correct answer for the next one, and she always manages to leave the final one blank. What did she even do here? This entire half of the exam is supposed to be a gimme!

If that were all there is to this exam, I would gleefully fail her and move on to the next student. There are still, however, her short-answer questions and the essay to be graded. Fortunately—or unfortunately, depending on the perspective—she has a better grasp of the course material than her answer sheet for the previous half would imply. Not only is she concise and well-written regarding the efficacy of the ‘Mother’s Kiss’ potion in treating toxicity or alchemical poisons, she even took the time to point out that although it’s effective, it cannot be used without dispelling the beneficial effects of a potion, something not even required in the guideline.

As loathe as I am to to admit it, to say her answer is exceptional is understating it. In my own exam, it didn’t even occur to me to bring that tidbit up. If there was ever an answer that deserved bonus points, this is the one, and that brings me to a dilemma. Even though her short-answer and essay sections are immaculate, she really botched the multiple choice and true-or-false, placing her score exactly five points below the threshold for passing. If I give her the points, that would mean another term or two suffering her presence before the summer holiday, but I could choose to be vengeful like I have every right to be, deprive her of the passing mark, and not have to deal with her again.

What would the bearers of the Elements of Harmony do? Applejack would give her the points out of honest respect for the answer, not the pony. Fluttershy would probably give her the points, relying on the ‘win her over with kindness’ way of thinking. Pinkie is a bit enigmatic, but I honestly think that she would probably give her the points as the only thing worse than being unable to make a pony smile would be to make them frown. Rainbow, ever loyal to her ideals and her friends, would probably be every bit as conflicted as I am. Rarity would be too generous for her own damn good, even if it did mean benefiting her rival. Twilight? I have no fucking clue, and look at the fat lot of good thinking about it like did me. Four against being spiteful and two wild-cards.

With great reluctance, I write ‘+5 for knowledge!’ down beside the question and adjust the tally. If my friends found out about this, would they think I’m too goody-two-shoes for my own good? Would they applaud me for making a tough choice and taking the moral high-ground? Would Princess Luna be proud? Twilight? I need something to distract me from this, and I think I have just the idea.

“Say, Professor?” I ask, putting down my quill and putting aside Aqua Regia’s exam. His eyes are already on me when I look up. “Do you remember what you said to me the first time we spoke after class?”

An unsure look crosses his face as he puts aside an exam and glances at the next one. “I recall saying quite a few things in my foolish old ways,” he answered cautiously. “My memory isn’t all that great these days. Could you please remind me what you mean?”

Pausing only to take the next exam packet, I reply, “When we first met, you said, ‘A wistful old fool such as yourself could only hope for the opportunity to teach one of Princess Luna’s blessed.’ It occurred to me that you never said anything else on the subject and was wondering what you really meant by it before I lost the opportunity to ask.”

The old fellow smiles weakly, nodding as he skims the exam in front of him. “I thought you might ask, eventually.” His quill races across the exam, held firmly in his levitation spell. “My family comes from a long, but admittedly obscure line of alchemists. As you no doubt know from the course material, Princess Luna was originally credited as the Matron of Alchemy due to the long nights alchemists spent endlessly working their concoctions. It was mere superstition that she watched over them and smiled upon them for not shirking her night like others. Still, these ponies prayed to her for guidance and good fortune in their endeavors. Eventually—not long before her banishment—she did take interest in the practice, and publicly supported many of the well-known alchemists of the time.

“When she was banished, prayers to Luna fell out of favor as from the outside it could be seen as villain worship,” he sighs, resting his ancient chin on one forearm. “Some families still did so in secret, hoping that one day their Princess would be returned to them and that they would be lead to greatness—a foolish notion for sure, but it’s what kept many families sticking to the trade. Mine was one such family.

“I asked the question itself because I’m getting on in years, and there isn’t much time left here for me. Upon hearing that Princess Luna was sponsoring a student herself, I became wishful. A part of me thought, ‘If I can teach somepony whom Luna has smiled upon, she might too smile upon me.’” The last words to come out of his mouth are but a reverent whisper. “I thought if I could do something worthwhile for the Princess and those she has chosen, it would validate my bloodline’s hokey old beliefs...”

Staring at the professor, I can’t help but feel he looks decades older now than he did moments before. Guilt wells up inside me knowing that I could have made his entire trimester with just a few words. I could still make his trimester... and I will.

“Professor Calcification?” I say in an apologetic tone. “I am that pony. I have been from the start. I just didn’t want to brag, and I was so hungry at the time, and—”

“I know,” he says softly, in almost a whisper. “It’s okay.”

“So I’m thirty-five miles from the nearest griffon settlement, dragging a dead boar behind me on the ground, being chased by a manticore when I ask myself, ‘Why am I walking? I’ve got freakin’ wings!’” Gale says slapping her hole cards—a four and a jack—face up on the table howling with laughter, as she points at the flop and turn respectively. “So I shoot straight up in the air, and big dumb oaf didn’t know what happened! He just kept on running on ahead, and I flew the rest of the way home.”

Turning my own hole cards over using my pinions, I smile, recognizing that my own hole cards—an ace and a jack—trump hers with a ten, a queen and a king on the flop. Ace high always beats straight king high. The nine and the six on the turn and river be damned. “Wait, your family just dropped you in the wilderness as a little chick and told you to kill something and come back alive?”

“Gale has a straight. Silver has a straight,” Beat announces, suppressing a grin. “Silver wins the hand with an ace kicker.” Using her magic, the mare pulls away the cards and shuffles them back into the deck before turning her attention to the pile of bits on the table. “The pot of 140 bits goes to Silver.”

“Drat,” the griffoness responds, eyeing her remaining bits. “As if it weren’t bad enough that you bullied out Blossom and Gaius, stealing the blinds with your mad bluffing, but now I’m down to just my buy-in.”

She points at the other three, all gathered off to the side of the dorm common room—the one co-ed room in all of Sagittarius hall—chatting animatedly or listening quietly to the conversation in the case of the mute Gaius. Occasionally bits and pieces of the conversation drifts over, giving me the impression that Ice Blossom is describing some sort of song for Gearalt.

“Know when to hold’em and when to fold’em, right?” I reply, desperately trying not to sound smug. “Besides, we all agreed that we could resign at any time. I still don’t know why everybody agreed on the thirty-five bit buy-in. At least you could walk away right now with no losses.”

Gale cringes before looking imploringly back at Chill Beat. Despite her lively and upbeat attitude, it’s kind of amazing that the mare could go this long without cracking a joke. “You know she’s right, pretty-feathers,” Beat chortles. “Nopony would hold it against you for standing now.”

Rolling her eyes, Gale responds, “Not a chance, pointy.” Oh the affectionate nicknames ponies and griffons can come up with. It’s nowhere near human levels of aggressive camaraderie where three friends will call each other dickface, fatass, and dumbfuck in public, but I’ll be damned if it’s not adorably close. “Deal me in.”

I stare at Gale, unsure whether to be impressed or saddened by her boldness. The ruffling of the feathers around her neck make it plenty clear that she’s agitated that she lost so much on that last hand. In all fairness to her, the odds weren’t that great, that two of us could have gotten a straight, but then she got cocky when I kept raising. Now she’s playing on pure emotion, and while I could probably clean her out, there’s no fun in it. Besides, I’ve already won more than enough for my not-a-date date with Blossom next weekend, assuming I pass.

“This might seem a like poor sportsmanship, Gale, but I think you’re too rattled by that last hand,” I say flatly, shooting Beat a look that says that I’m out. “I have no doubt if we continued you might win a few hands, but you’re not thinking clearly any more. If I was any other person, I’d take advantage of that and clean you out, but I’m more than happy winning this much. Count me out.” Looking at the clock, I have to stifle a yawn. “‘sides, it’s getting late.”

I’m not sure if I’ve ever mentioned this before, but angry griffons are fucking scary. Their irises—no, not their pupils—literally shrink to pinpricks, and there’s this specific fringe of feathers on their heads—essentially their hair or mane—that goes right rigid when they’re angry. It’s not all that different from a cockatiel’s crest when it’s alarmed, and if not for the dangerous claws and threatening eyes, it might even be cute. I’ve only ever seen this look on Gale once before, and that was when she wanted to practically murder Aqua Regia.

“Don’t toy with me,” she growls. “Give me this last—”

Anything else she might have had to say is cut off when our attention is drawn to the sight of an anxious Twilight Velvet entering the common room. The mare’s purple and white mane looks kind-of disheveled, and there are rolls of parchment poking from the saddlebags perched on her back. My stomach basically plummets when her eyes alight on me and she begins trotting over to the table.

Quickly dropping my empty coin-purse on the table in front of Beat, I face the approaching mare with mounting apprehension. “Ma’am, you’re usually at home by this hour,” I state with a false air of calmness. “I’m not in trouble again, am I?”

The mare only shakes her head, not meeting my eyes. From her bag comes a roll of parchment and a packet of papers bearing a familiar scrawl—mine—on the front. “I never intended to be here this late either. Some things... came up, and I was stopped on my way out.” She sounds exhausted and a bit shaken. “This is your exam package, your final grading for the term, as well as instructions for when you will begin your Alchemy Safety course.”

I look at her in confusion. “These were going to be handed out tomorrow though... Why tonight?”

“Professor Calcification passed away this afternoon, Silver. I’m—”

I feel a lump rise in my throat. “That can’t be true. I was with him for most of the afternoon!” My throat is suddenly bone dry, and I’m suddenly aware of how cold my body feels. “He seemed fine then! Maybe a little tired, but he was as lively as any other day!”

Through misty eyes, I observe Velvet’s apologetic expression. “He was one hundred and forty-three,” she whispers softly. “He lived a very long, rewarding life.”

There’s nothing I can say. Anything that pops into my mind died somewhere between my larynx and my mouth. Professor Calcifiation was that old? I would never have pegged him anywhere over seventy at the most. Do unicorns really live that long?

“Classes have been cancelled tomorrow, and instead the university will be holding a memorial service,” Velvet offers, using a bit of magic to wipe a tear off my cheek. Then, as if remembering something, she half-smiled “He spoke often of you in the faculty lounge, you know. In a way, I think he was really fond of you, so the staff and I were hoping you might give a speech at the memorial.”

Again, I find my words difficult to bring to the surface. He’s dead? But he seemed so happy. Was it because I told him the truth? “I—I’ll do it,” I whisper, staring at the exam packet. I can just barely make out a note sticking out from between the cover and the first sheet of the exam papers. Surely it can’t be... “Just tell me what time to be there.”

Silver,

You are, by far, one of the most unique students I’ve ever had the pleasure of teaching, and that’s saying something from one having taught dragons in the past. These last two months have been some of the happiest times for me in recent memory. It’s so rare that I ever get students who are interested in my course for more than just the groundwork for their careers as alchemists. Your interest in the theory and ways it could be applied have been a breath of fresh air in this old stallion’s lungs.

I’ve known from day one what you admitted to me today—student records and all that—but out of respect for your privacy, I let it go. Having been such a diligent and bright student, you’ve made me incredibly proud. Though I never had any children of my own, I imagine the pride I feel in watching you is akin to that which a parent feels when they know their young is destined for great things.

Keep up the great work, and make Princess Luna proud.

~Professor Skeletal Calcification, Last Remaining Son of House Xyster

Author's Notes:

Thanks go to NightmareKnight and E3gner again for editing.

In case anybody was wondering, that first part of the dream segment is in reference to one of my previous stories, Displaced, which I was nearing the end of at the time that I began writing this story's predecessor. At the time When a Pony Calls first came around, when Soren Friedrich was still an author insert character, I made reference to Displaced once before, referencing the writing itself, and once again when Silver came to be at the end. I kinda wanted to make another reference to the story.