“Thish ishn’t fuckin’ fair,” I grumble to Blossom some time after that sham of a trial. We’re sitting in her room while I drink away my anger, because why the fuck not? “How could she do thish to me, Blosshom?”

Chill Beat, eying the bottle of Griffish—Irish, in other words—Cream clutched against my belly, frowns at me from her bed. “I know that you’re upset with their decision—”

“You shink?”

“—but try to think about it from their point of view,” she pleads, looking from me to her sister. “Even if there was no public trial, the case will still be made public. They have to weigh the public opinion and make a judgement that will be seen as fair by the majority.”

Blossom pulls me into more upright position and hugs me against her barrel as she tries to run a brush through a random tangle in my mane. “But sister, how is any of that fair?” she asks in honest confusion. “Aqua Regia was found guilty of rape and assault by the princesses, yet she got off with five years of probation.”

“Myeah!” I murmur around the mouth of the bottle as I drain it of its contents. “Wha she shayd.”

Shaking her head, Beat hops off of her bed and trots over to her desk. Enveloping a sheet of parchment and a drumstick on her desk in her pink magical aura, she holds them both in front of her. The parchment bends into a sturdy delta and she balances the drumstick on it. “It’s like this,” she says in a very... teacherly tone. “They’ve already balanced out the crime of rape by rendering her reproductive tract inert, effectively neutralizing her sex drive and, according to recent studies, stunting the likelihood she’s going to do anything of the such again.” The drumstick tilts precariously to one side of the delta, its tip pointing down at the floor.

“Now, normally an assault with the intent to maim lands a prison sentence of five years, and the princesses were fully prepared to do so, right?” she continues, tilting the drumstick back into an even position. “Then Blueblood excommunicated her from House Blueblood with no chance of her ever coming back. She lost her home, her belongings, her money, and most of all, her family and support. That’s on top of her pending expulsion from the university.”

This time, the drumstick tilts in the opposite direction, pointing the tip near vertically. “If the princesses sent her to prison, Aqua would come out homeless, already stigmatized for her crimes, and no knowledge of the employment atmosphere,” she says angrily. “As much as we don’t like rapists and violent criminals, ponies don’t like seeing their own suffer. Aqua won’t be getting off easily. For the next five years of her life, she’ll be reporting her daily movements to the Royal Guard. Since she can’t even leave town, she’s stuck looking for work in Canterlot and living out of a shelter.”

“Y’almosht shound like yer schticking up fer her,” I grumble, turning away from her fancy-shmancy visual aids, and burying my face into Blossom’s neck. “What shide you on?”

The drumstick strikes the ground with a clatter. “How can you even say that after how I stuck up for you?” Her accusation hurts more than she realizes, because I know how disloyal that sounded. “I was simply explaining why I thought the princesses did it the way they did. I know you’re hurting big-time because things didn’t work out exactly the way you expected, but you shouldn’t take it out on me!”

For the longest while I say nothing. She’s absolutely correct; I have no right to take any of this out on her. She’s under no obligation to let me stay here until I’m sober, yet when I showed up at the door on a borrowed cloud, wearing a blood-stained prison uniform, and smelling like coffee liqueur, she let me right in. It doesn’t matter to her that I’m somewhat belligerent or the fact that I can’t piece together a sentence without slurring my words. What matters is that I’m her friend and sister’s lover, and that I’m hurting in more ways than one.

“‘m sorry,” I grumble. “Is jusht... ’m angry, I guessh. Didn’ even punish ‘er for rapin’ me. Jusht magically make her infertile ‘n shend’er on her way.”

“What do you mean?” Blossom asks, trying to run the brush through my tangled mane. “She is unable to continue her bloodline. This goes against a pony’s natural drive to ensure their legacy lives on. Isn’t that punishment enough?”

“Maybe itsh different here, but where I came from, we didn’t jusht geld a man. It jusht don’t work like that,” I mutter, staring down at my still-bandaged hooves. I will definitely have issues brewing a potion strong enough to repair the damage, and even then, I’ll still be limping for a while. “Shexual shadism comes from the head, not the groin, sho even if you geld a shtallion—nishe double shtandard, by the way—he can shtill find other waysh to torture shomepony. Broomshtick, for example. We shtick’em in prison for a few yearsh and rehabilitate’m. Even then, people ‘voided them like the plague.”

“That sounds horrible! How can they imprison somepony for something they can’t help?” Blossom says with great offense. “They wouldn’t imprison a pony just because they suffer from Magpie Syndrome, would they?”

“That’sh jusht it,” I reply after staring at her in confusion for a moment. “Mosht cashes they can. Itsh not that hard to shee you have a problem and sheek pshycological help. Shometimes they like who they are though, sho they don’t. Like I shayd, maybe itsh diff here, and choppin’ shome poor shod’sh nutsh off shtops it, but it’sh more complicated back home.”

“That’s another thing,” Beat says with a disgusted look on her face. “Why do you keep going on about physical castration? Ponies haven’t done anything that barbaric for centuries. Too many complications with the mares, and even the princesses get things wrong sometimes. Sure we still use the word geld, but it’s not like it holds the same meaning as it used to.”

I stare at the mare in shock for a few moments. How is it I had the notion that they were physically removing a stallion’s testes? Wait, it was Lyra. “Prolly cuz Lyra ushed the word to explain why she had to be turned female after an unfortunate encounter with an old friend,” I answer, mollified. “Gotta undershtand, we were the only shentients back on earth, horshes and cattle were jusht dumb liveshtock, and to prevent them from breedin’ uncontrollably on the farms, we generally neutered the malesh.”

I guess that implication is a bit grim for Beat, judging by the look she throws behind me, to Blossom. “Anywaysh, mind if I crash here for the night?” I ask, shifting uneasily about on the bed. “Don’t wanna walk on theshe right now, an’ I think somepony already fucked off with my cloud.”

“No.”

“Of course you can.”

“What?” Beat asks, her body rigid with incredulity. “I don’t wanna hear none of your canoodling. Go home, Silver; you’re drunk.”

“Sister, please,” Blossom counters. “It’s because she’s drunk that we should let her stay. She could get hurt or worse in her condition!”

The unicorn mare looks me in the eyes, returns her gaze to her sister, and then sags. “Fiiine. No canoodling.”

Content that I’m not about to be sent off to drunkenly stagger down the hall on cracked hooves, I let my head flop down unceremoniously on the bed. This, of course, is not without a grumble of complaint from Ice Blossom, who isn’t finished with my mane. “I shwear,” I murmur into the bedsheet. “If thish bad luck keepsh up, I’m headin’ back to Ponyville.”

The next few days go by unusually quietly. After roping Beat into helping me brew up my regenerative—an easy feat when I remind her that she wanted to set me loose while drunk and injured—I barely see any of my friends. At first, I am convinced that they’re just giving me space to brood over the fact that I don’t get the satisfaction of seeing Aqua in a stylish jumpsuit like mine, but that feeling passes, leaving me wondering whether or not they’re just busy preparing for the start of the new semester. Either way, it gets kinda lonely when you’re stuck constantly limping around with nopony’s shoulder to lean on. It almost feels like Blossom especially is avoiding me.

That mystery resolves itself on the evening of the day before classes begin. When I enter the common room in hopes of getting off of my hooves for a bit, I am blasted with confetti and streamers and glitter—seriously, why do ponies think glitter bombing is a good idea? Oh hey; your eyes look like they could use some tiny flecks of plastic in them! Yeah, that's a totally appropriate way to greet somepony.

“Surprise!” a large number of ponies shout as they leap from behind various articles of furniture in the common room. A few of them fire off party poppers at me, while another messy-maned pony decides that a lemon meringue pie to the face is the proper way to greet somepony. Three guesses who I think that is, and the first two don't count. “Happy birthday, Silver!”

So it would seem that today is my birthday. That's news to me! Pretty sure I haven’t actually told anyone my date of birth or age. Wiping the pie—what a waste—and glitter from my eyes, I glare about in search of the pink-maned menace that assaulted me with a treat. After a few moments, I spot her lowering the needle of a phonograph onto a record. “Today’s my birthday?” I ask, licking the meringue and lemon filling from my tension bandage-wrapped hoof. The pie’s not bad, but I’ll definitely need to replace the bandage before the day’s out now. “How do you figure?”

Pinkie smiles broadly and sucks in a long breath. “Well, a little white birdy told me you were feeling down and wanted to hold you a party. Since you never let me hold you a birthday party during your short stay in Ponyville, I figured maybe your birthday had passed. Since you never seem to write anypony but Lyra, except for that one time you ordered that gift for Spike, I never found out if you had a birthday yet.” Pausing to breathe, her smile grows wide enough to threaten the immediate separation of the top of her head. “So I wrote to everypony you know, but it turns out you never had a birthday yet, so it pretty much had to be soon. That works out just as well because this way we can celebrate your first anniversary of living in Equestria early!”

I stare at the mare in shock as people I know—ponies, griffons and royalty alike—gather around me. “I’m going to blow your mind, Pinkie, but I would have told you my birthday if you bloody asked me.” Covering my face with one hoof, I shake my head. “Before you ask why I never told you during what little time I spent in Ponyville, I’d like to remind you about my state of mind in the months following the beginning of my Equestrian life. I wasn’t in the mood to celebrate.”

Something touches me on the shoulder, and immediately I flinch away. I would be lying if I said I was completely over having to literally relive that horrible event; as much as I might try to deny it, the wounds and trauma of being raped are all fresh in my mind. Every touch of a stranger leaves me fearful and anxious, as though my fight or flight instincts are on autopilot. Am I really so bothered by what has happened because of how absent my friends have been?

Glancing back, I see Blossom watching me worriedly, her hoof hovering an inch away from me. “Silver, I’m sorry if we gave you the impression we’ve been avoiding you,” she pleads, noting the change in my demeanor. Perhaps some hint of what I’ve gone through is showing on my face? “I—after that night, you still seemed so angry and hurt. I worried that if we didn’t give you some space, you’d think we were smothering you, so I suggested we give you some time to think.”

“Where I come from, that would be an incredibly reckless thing to do to the victim of a crime, as it could give them the impression that they’re being blamed or abandoned, which would only worsen their psychological state rather tragically,” I reply flatly. Her expression falls, and everybody else around me seems to wilt as well. “That said, we also have a certain saying, ‘you’re damned if you do, and you’re damned if you don’t’. I can’t say that it didn’t hurt, but knowing that it wasn’t done in malice makes me feel better about it.”

Smiling a bit, I incline my head back toward Pinkie. “October 21st.”

Her eyes sort of twitch in two separate directions, and her mouth opens in a most unnatural snarl, as though her jaw has unhinged. I might almost find it amusing if her whole facial expression didn’t so readily remind me of that damn lamia. Of all the facial expressions the mare could pull, she chooses one that’ll haunt me for the rest of my life. Then of course, her voice goes completely demonic, which is completely natural in this sort of situation. “What? But I never miss a friend’s birthday!”

“Relax, Pinkie!” Rainbow Dash interjects. “You didn’t miss it. Just call it a belated birthday party, and you can still hold her one for the next birthday.”

“Apparently missing my twenty-second birthday is a major event,” I mutter quietly. Raising my voice, I say, “Instead of dwelling on that, let’s just go ahead and get this party rolling.” ...and then Pinkie explodes into celebratory glee.

I can’t say for sure how long the party lasted. Between the snacks, the presents, and ponies and griffins alike wanting to talk to me, there’s really no gauge for time. All I know is that I feel better following today’s party. The pain and such is obviously still present, but having ponies here for me makes this so much better.

After the little discourse with Pinkie and Blossom, the first pony looking to speak to me is Twilight—Sparkle, not Velvet. She thankfully doesn’t have a gift for me. I say thankfully because honestly, I might expect something like a book called Grief and You: A Victim’s Guide to Dealing with Trauma. It isn’t that I think she’s heartless enough to make such an offering; on the contrary, she’s full of heart. She just the sort of good-natured mare who, in lacking experience with that sort of thing, would try to help the only way she knows how. Either way, just having her here is enough of a gift.

We don’t have too long to discuss my studies or plans for my independent research regarding alchemy beyond filling her in on the gist of it. Of course she commends me for attempting to tackle transformatives and studying the effects of chaos in alchemy, but she definitely manages to take some of the wind from my sails; of course she would mention that in order to maintain a bifurcated study, I would be required to submit twice the amount of progress reports to my professor. Oh well, if that’s the way it has to be, then that’s the way I’ll do it.

After Twilight, Rarity decides she wants a turn with me. Being the mare she is, she’s quick to fuss over my appearance—I can’t really be blamed for not dedicating much time to my mane with my hooves jacked up—but I honestly believe she’s just keeping face. When she looks at me, I can see in her eyes the horror she holds, knowing what I’ve been through. In fact, after her mandatory gripe about my hair, she’s quick to say how sorry she is that I had to go through what every mare fears in one form or another.

Yeah, it’s not exactly something I want to be reminded of, but it’s not like she does it out of malice. Maybe catching on to my mood, she quickly moves on to her ‘present’. I do seem to recall commissioning—as much as it can be considered a commission when they won’t take your money—some new saddlebags from Rarity following my old pair’s demise via lamia. The new ones are a nice olive green, much like that cap I kept with me all this time, held together by an adjustable brown canvas strap.

Silver Spoon’s contributions to the bag, two artful silver buckles consisting of the convergence of a waxing and crescent moon, are only a portion of what makes this a surprisingly awesome gift; it might be a detour from the original design, but functionally, the buckles work much better in making a whole moon instead of simply a crescent. The right saddlebag, instead of hanging loosely when empty, is not unlike a hardened equipment case. Inside, there are even foam inserts meant to safely house any number of vials, specimen jars, and specimen collection tools. In no uncertain terms, the bag is everything an alchemist could ask for!

Let’s just make one thing clear; just because I end up hugging Rarity until she begs me to let her go, I’m not going soft or becoming like her. My mind might still be reeling in some form of PTSD instability, but I’m genuinely grateful that she talked me out of paying her. I’ll never tell her as much, but her generosity in this case—hah—really does make this feel like a gift.

Not everybody present at the coronation could make it, of course. Applejack and Fluttershy both have occupation obligations that simply don’t allow them to be away for ungodly lengths of time. At any rate, it’s probably for the best. Applejack would likely gift unto me cider, or apple whiskey, or some sort of fattening apple related treat, and Fluttershy would probably end up trying to get me to take in a rabbit or a kitten or some other diabolically—read diabetically—cute critter. By Celestia, who knows what kind of trouble I could get into? Oh! Tribbles come to mind. Definitely tribbles.

From Gale, I receive my compass back, and a package of spicy jerky to be consumed in privacy. Chill Beat did not fail to notice that my shades did not make the return trip from Ponyville, and thus I now own some stylish, protective sunglasses that apparently work well for alchemy and spot welding—I almost wanna ask how she could know this. From Rainbow Dash, I receive some quality flight goggles and an offer for a gig with Ponyville’s weather patrol if Canterlot doesn’t work out for me. Likewise, Princess Cadance informs me that the Crystal Empire could use an alchemist and that I’m always welcome. Gaius’s gift, although more of an offer, kinda feels like a ‘too soon’ sort of deal; his gift is an offer of self defense training. If I ever feel safe being touched again, I might give it a shot, but I’m not holding my breath.

Gearalt’s gift... that’s really something special. Instead of something conventional or practical, his gift is something that I could never have expected. At first glance, he doesn’t appear to have anything for me, but then he points to the gramophone set up just off to the side and tells me that’s part of his gift. From beneath one of his wings, he withdraws a record sleeve and brings it over to the player. I tell you, the moment my voice starts flowing from the machine’s horn, the waterworks just start.

Anybody will tell you that it’s all well and good to think your voice sounds great when singing, but to actually hear yourself as an audience heard you? That is a humbling experience. That’s not why the tears are going, though. The song playing is the very one I vocalized before Aqua Regia made her appearance. That event is forever marred by her appearance in my memory... but now? Now I can listen to my performance in its erstwhile beauty, without having to think back past Aqua. Part of me wants to ask where he even got a recording, but I’m content to just accept the gift for what it is.

When Blossom’s turn comes, I’m actually surprised that she has present. That isn’t to say that I am disappointed—not at all! It’s plain enough to see that this very party is her idea and gift to me. This is the sort of naive, loving thing I’ve come to expect of the mare. Coupled with seeing her Falcon Punch my rapist, a party surrounded by ponies who care about me more than makes up for her absence over the last few days. So a pair of crescent moon barrettes is just the little extra bit of icing on the cake.

Pinkie? Pinkie’s, well... Pinkie. She has the weirdest idea of gifts, but somehow her nonsequitur way of thinking almost makes sense. Only that mare can decide on giving somepony a cucumber, wool shears, and a muffin tin, and still expect them to have any idea what to do with it. Fearing her line of thinking, I’ve no intention of asking. Just... no.

At least I’m having fun.

As the night draws to a close, Shining Armor pulls me aside. The royal consort is trying to look casual about it all, but his stiff bearing betrays his intent. “Listen, Silver,” he says with concern tinging his voice, “I know the other day was rough for you. That memory—” He shudders visibly and a blush bleeds through his coat. “—was absolutely horrifying. Nopony blames you for running off, feeling the way you did. Not even Princesses Celestia or Luna.

“That being said, you did leave before we could address your foalnapping.” He looks down. “I know that we all would have liked to throw Blueblood or Aqua Regia under the cart, but they both willingly submitted to memory probes and various lie detection batteries. They did not do it, and if anypony under their employ did, it was without their knowledge or approval.”

“I know,” I reply, turning away to lean against a nearby wall. “It made too much sense for it to be them, as much as I’d like it to be that way.” With a sigh, I paw listlessly at the floor. “I guess part of me just wished that Equestrian nobility wasn’t just some drow-like caste, where vicious political games treat the uninvolved as pawns. Why should a wonderful woman like Blossom have to go through all that horrible shit just because some greedy bastard with deep pockets wants to usurp some other rich bastard’s position?” Before I realize it, the tears are running free. “How is that fair?”

“How is that fair to you, Silver?” he asks sympathetically. “You’re trying to put up a strong front with some bravado, but it’s clear that you’re hurting. It’s okay to let go now though. Aqua can’t hurt you now. Neither can Blueblood. Hay, if Princess Luna has her way, the entire Canterlot upper echelon is going to know that ponies sponsored by the crown are off-limits, and not to be used as pawns in their twisted political agendas.”

Rounding on him, I stare down my narrow muzzle at the prince consort. He’s definitely trying to make me feel better, but to what end? “So the ones responsible have been caught then.” This is not phrased as a question, but as a statement of fact. “And they’re being made an example of.”

Looking away in discomfort, Shining Armor doesn’t seem nearly as intimidating as a stallion his size should be. Somehow, he manages to look cowed by my statement. Why would that be? “No, those responsible haven’t—”

With a disgusted look, I force air through my nostrils in a frustrated snort. “Then they’ve gone to ground by now!” I hiss angrily. “Why even bring it up?”

“Because I trust in my successor to flush them out and bring them to justice,” he replies evenly, meeting my glare with a confident look. “I wouldn’t bring it up if I didn’t have the utmost confidence in those on the case.” When he softens his gaze, a smile creeps across his face. “Look, I expect you’re tired of all this, so if you’d like, I can tell them you’d like to be left out of the proceedings regarding your kidnapping.”

Returning his smile, I begin to limp away. “Thanks, I’d like that,” I reply. “With everything I want to achieve, I’d rather stay out of the public eye for a bit.”

Dear Diary,

Sometimes I wonder if it’s all worth it. I’m not talking about life, or being a pony, or even studying alchemy. No, sometimes I wonder if it’s worth trying not to look like some sort of Mary Sue in the story that is my life. It seems like every time I’m presented with an option to take the easy way—one I almost always refuse—out and make my life so much more simpler, I am always presented with unbalanced turnabout.

It first happened in the days following my permanent stay as a pony. I was in a right awful state, unsure of what to do, reeling with my parent’s rejection and denial. In the state I was in, I probably could have asked the princesses to set me up with a small fortune, and maybe make me a noble, and they probably would have obliged me. Instead I asked only a stipend to live on until I found my niche in life and a scholarship for education. What did that earn me? A lot of hardship.

I probably could have done really well with myself if I’d decided to side with Aqua Regia instead of standing up to her. Who knows, maybe I could have even made a difference in the mare’s life. Maybe none of what happened to me would have happened the way it did. Instead, for standing up against a stuck-up noble, I’ve been raped, shunned, and in general not been welcomed.

Following that, I had the option of keeping my mouth shut and hoping she’d simply back the fuck off. Maybe it would have turned out differently? Instead, I made public her indiscretions, and put into play some random noble house’s grab for power. I had to relive one of the most traumatic events in my life to ensure Aqua was bent over and fucked by the princesses.

So do I regret the choices I’ve made? No. In spite of every ‘bad’ choice I’ve made, something good has come from my actions. If I hadn’t made enemies with Aqua, I would never have ponied up and eaten meat. I wouldn’t have even met Blossom, my love, since I would never have convinced her I was some mythological cannibal.

Without the mental scars of my rape, I might not have been as malignant toward Rainbow Dash during my trip to Ponyville, and wouldn’t have put her on the spot. We wouldn’t have made peace. I probably wouldn’t even have made it out of the forest without everything that I’d inadvertently set up with all of my choices.

For all the bad it’s done me, my traumas made me the mare I am. I don’t think I’d trade it for anything in the world. My friends have helped me through everything that life has thrown at me, and they continue to be a beacon of light. Even now that school’s back in play, they’ve been very supportive of me, especially Blossom.

The love I hold for that mare... it grows every day. Not long after the party, we met up in the atrium, much like we did that one night so long ago. Beneath the very same tree, in fact. We decided that my actual birthday wasn’t going to be one big party. Just the two of us, maybe try to make something special of the night. We’ll discuss it more the closer the date comes, but a nice night out together sounds great.

At least something became of that interrupted night together, read kidnapping. It took some time, but eventually that Captain Cutlass fellow managed to get to the center of all that corruption and tracked down the assholes that tried to fake my death and pin it on the Bluebloods. Turns out some noble house that had fallen out of power in the last decade used to have good ties with House Blueblood, but started a blood—hah—feud following the disappearance of their daughter. I think the house’s name was Shimmer or something equally glittery. Whatever, I just want to wash my hooves of the whole affair at this point; so long as they are punished, I don’t want anything else.

My research projects have been working really well. Both branches are going incredibly well. Most of the details are going into my research notes, but I made some interesting observations about the zebra potion during a case study. What’s more, I’m almost certain that I’ve gotten the key to transformatives. The cure for the common cold is also looking good. If this pans out, my research could be used as the basis for curing many maladies that have an almost random basis. I even managed to make a stable version of the zebra potion, where you are at absolutely no risk of knocking a sexual partner up or being knocked up. That alone would go well on the recreational sex market, I think... though I wonder if maybe Blossom might like to play with that?

Probably the only thing that seems to be going awry for me is the fact that things have been going missing. Starling’s cursed compass, my brush, and various trinkets of mine have gone missing from my room, but more importantly, I somehow misplaced one of the vials of zebra potion for a clinical trial. I have my suspicions, but Gale insists it wasn’t her. One of the other students seems to have been rifling through the professor’s cabinets full of student research data. My data is among some of the things to have gone missing. So of course one has to worry that someone’s trying to take credit for my findings.

So yeah, I’m worried. For now, though, I’m going to knock off for the night. Gotta be well rested if I plan on trying to give myself griffon talons. Luna only knows how much a transformation like that is going to hurt.

~Silver Script, late o’clock, September 29th, 2002 PH

Author's Notes:

Edited by Refro and Fourpony.

Bit of an odd chapter, but it's the end of the second-last story arc, and it needed to be wrapped up in such a way. Stay tuned for the interlude.