Scene 1 - Draft 2

If one does not look too closely, there is nothing special about Canterlot High. It is a remarkably well-run, friendly institution that has begun to make a name for itself in the area as a wonderful alternative to expensive high schools like Crystal Prep and St. Faust down the road. Despite perhaps lacking in the brilliant marble floors and advanced equipment of the former, or the sheer weight of history of the latter, visitors can easily see the love poured into the school, the skill of their teachers and the excellent rapport between students.

What might be less obvious at first glance is the fact some people have worked very hard for this peace. Twice already this school has witnessed extraordinary events that could have irrevocably shattered the tranquility of this town if not for the tenacious efforts of a select few. By now, students and teachers are at least aware of the presence of the fantastic among them.

At present, the fantastic is sitting in the school library, poring over fairytale books.

Princess Twilight Sparkle has many questions about this world, but the loudest ones revolve around magic. Before a certain thief brought her crown here, there should have been no trace of the supernatural on this side of the portal, and yet myths and legends abound. She finishes another book, and wonders. Compared to her own homeland, there is a deluge of information at her fingertips. Unfortunately, it also means there is a lot more to sift through than she is used to.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

“Uh? I - excuse me?” The pony princess stammers, raising her purple eyes to meet dour blue ones. Then she takes a good look at the trim, almost twiggy teen in the white sundress, and the pieces click together into a name. The girl chuckles, and replies: “Local expression, means I’m asking what’s in your mind. It’s a bit more polite than Pinkie’s “So spill already!” I’m Bon Bon, nice to meet you.”

The purple-haired teen smiles and sits a bit straighter. “Oh! I see. Princess Twilight Sparkle, charmed. Ahem! I’m researching this world’s magic.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Twilight smiles as she slips into lecture mode. “Well, at first I thought the only magic around here was whatever Sunset and I brought with us back from home. But there are a lot of stories and legends that make me wonder if it’s really true that there was never any magic around here, so I’m checking a few books and comparing my findings to what I know.”

Bon Bon nods uncertainly. “And have you found anything? Anything that we at Canterlot High should know?”

At this, Twilight deflates. “Too much and too little. There’s just so much to read and learn but nothing that actually relates to what I’m seeing. The other day Sunset wrote me a note saying the girls are beginning to show traces of magic, but I really don’t know what it means. Is that magic their own or leftovers from Equestria? Is it permanent or will they lose it eventually? Is it limited to them or is it going to spread? It’s just questions and questions, Bon Bon, and I don’t know where to even start looking for answers!”

And Bon Bon stares at her. “Okay. I’m sorry, but all of that just kind of… flies over my head. Actually, I just wanted to thank you for helping getting rid of those… Sirens?” The blue-and-pink haired teen swallows. “I… I was one of the guys who listened a bit too much to their music. I got very angry with my friend. We made up since, but you see, I’m not the nicest person in the world, so the thought of losing what few friends I do keep... frightens me. You can imagine how I’m worried about anything that can change people like that.”

The princess smiles. “Well, that’s precisely why I’m here. Basically, to clean up the mess Sunset and I made the first time around. I promise I’ll do my best to keep the magic of friendship strong with everyone’s help.”

Sensing she’s approaching sensitive territory, the apprentice candy maker raises her hand in a conciliatory gesture as she turns to leave. “As long as everyone’s alright, it’s all good then. Now if you will excuse me, I need to find a book of my own.”

“Sure! Have a good day, Bon Bon!” And as her new friend fades from sight, Twilight sinks a bit deeper in the chair’s plush. With a sigh, she rises once more, drops the books she was consulting on the library’s cart, ticks them off her checklist, and goes off to find the last three tomes of the day.

“Let’s see… it’s CF142… CF137… Aha! CF135. Here.” And as she slips the hardback off the shelf, another slender tome comes down. Cursing her inexperience with fingers, Twilight kneels and picks up the little volume. It’s a quarto, bound in a thick… pink cover? Turning it around, the princess notes the gaudy, even pinker heart embossed on the book’s cover, and the tiny lock at its side. There’s no identifying label. Clearly this book doesn’t belong here.

“What are you doing here? Maybe someone forgot her diary here?” Twilight mutters. Maybe it was Pinkie’s. Very few people, in this world or any other, used a pink as bright and flashy. Taking it to her seat along the other reference books, the princess sets it aside to turn at the library entrance or at the school’s Lost and Found, opens the next handbook and engrosses herself.

The book has a dry, clinical tone to it that doesn’t agree with the pony-turned-human. As much as she tries to find something useful, slowly the act of reading and taking notes becomes more drudgery. Languidly, Twilight sinks in the chair as lassitude begins to creep on her tired muscles. Every now and then a promising idea pops in the text, and every time Twilight is disappointed.

Idly, she notes it’s getting late on the day; it won’t be long before the school closes. Closing the book, Twilight leans back on the chair. Somehow, she’s a bit tired, even though she has only spent a couple of hours revising Canterlot High’s library. And to make it worse, she still has found nothing of import. She stretches a lazy hand to the ceiling, trying to shake off her apathy, and finds herself staring as she flexes her hand open and close.

Beyond the initial shock of finding herself in an alien body, Twilight had never given much thought to her new anatomy. Sure, she is comfortable in it, but she never had really given herself a good look or focused on the details. A glance at a side reveals a convenient mirrored surface. Setting aside the thought of magic, the purple-haired princess rises and ambles over to look at her reflection.

She begins with her arms, thin and smooth. Hands are so strange but so useful when deprived of her natural magic.  Turning them over, she notices the short, well-manicured nails. Twilight drops her arm and directs her attention to her legs, sleek with just a hint of creaminess. With a slight smile, the princess slides a hand across her thigh, and gives it a gentle squeeze. Allowing her lips to drift into a smirk, Twilight straightens her hair, keeping eye contact with her reflection. She knows so little of humans, but she feels pretty. Not quite up to beautiful or alluring, not like others she’s seen, but there is definitely something attractive in her.

Her eyes wander to her chest. The pale blue blouse covers the two strange, soft mountains growing from her torso. They are, Twilight thinks, not very large. More on the small side compared to other girls in the school. She brushes her hand across her bust, snugly contained in the clever bra garment. The princess, drawn to the sensation, briefly presses the whole palm against the breast and further gently pushes it against the small tit. Her eyes widen. Not now, she resolved. Later.

She then takes her hands to her belly, and absently fingers the blouse’s lower buttons. Slowly, Twilight’s hand circles her midsection, feeling the softness of her body. Bit by bit, her hands droop further and further until they rest over her skirt. Haltingly, her hands once again close, bunching up the garment. Lost in the moment, Twilight hikes up the skirt to see what lies beneath. There is a small triangle of fabric covering the space between her legs, and in a haze of wonderment, her right hand slowly reaches for it…

There is a tiny flash at the edge of her vision, like the glare of a mirror. And the spell is broken.

Yelping, Twilight jerks her skirt back into position and shuffles, cowering in embarrassment, back to her seat. She desperately breathes in, hoping no one saw her checking herself out in front of the mirror, or worse, fiddling with her skirt. Flushing, she mentally curses herself, asking what in Celestia’s green earth was she thinking. She doesn’t understand much of the humans’ need for clothes, but back home exploring her nethers in a public library would count as indecent exposure if not something worse.

A treacherous part of her mind reels in some strange joy at the thought. The princess ruthlessly quashes it.

Then, it occurs to her she has no idea what that light was. Dread gnawing at her heart, she whirls around, but there is nobody in the vicinity. Heart beating madly in her chest, the purple-haired teen tries to steady her breath and convince herself she is truly alone.

Then she sees the small flash again.

It’s coming from the pink book.

It’s just a little spark, but it has no discernible source. Gingerly, she returns to her seat and pulls the pink volume closer. The feeble light steadies as Twilight holds the book, and her eyes fully widen as a strange sensation begins coursing through her hands.

The book is taking a bit of her magic.

The pony princess’ mouth dries. The tome is indeed somehow magical. It’s taking her magic and exuding a different type, one she has never felt before. The little wavering pink glow feels warm, eager. She pinches one of the little pink strands, and is rewarded with a small wave of heat that travels through her hand and arm, straight to her core. If anyone were looking at her, they would see a tiny pink glare flash across her eyes for an instant.

Twilight blinks. This book, diary, whatever it is. She must know what it is. It’s unusual magic, in a place that supposedly knows nothing about the occult at all. A deeper scan would probably be for the best, maybe taking it home to examine it in more detail. Heart beating madly in her chest, the princess takes the book and feeds it a bit more magic.

The book opens with a small click, and Twilight all but throws it open. A bookmark, as glaringly pink as the book’s cover, embossed with the same heart design and shining with the same pink glow, slides out, and the teen puts it aside.

Breathing heavily, she begins to read…


Between the words and the page, between letter and ink, something stirs at Twilight’s injection of magic. Something pink and joyful and marvelous. It remembers life and light, and it remembers people.

It liked people.

By itself, it is naught but naked power. But pure power lacks substance and meaning. Energy is formless and transient; reality restricts it, struggles against its touch. Therein lies the fun, to poke and prod, to rearrange and to mold more physical shapes. It looks up from the book and sees the pony princess, brimming with youth and vitality, and so, so very soft and malleable and docile.

It likes Twilight. In fact, it likes her a lot.

It rises and coils into the girl’s fingers, seeping into her body, reaching into her core, and twists.

… and, as Twilight reads on, her world changes…


Walking at a brisk pace, an irritated Bon Bon returns to the library and huffily exchanges the book she had taken just a while ago for an actual cookbook. If anyone names a book after food, she damn well expects it to be about food. As she turns to leave, it occurs to her to check if the princess is still around.

The chair is empty, but there are a couple of books still in the desk. Quietly fuming, the teen picks them and motions to return them to the cart, when something falls off the desk.

Its’s a bookmark, a bright strip of thick vermilion and pink fabric decorated with pink hearts. It has a nice shine, almost as if it had a pale pink shine of its own. Turning it around, Bon Bon examines the bookmark. It’s a tad garish, but it’s still a very nice thing.  Bon Bon tuts to herself. If she sees the Princess, she’ll give her the bookmark back, and if not, well, she really should be more careful with her stuff.

With a spring in her step, she leaves Canterlot High. She has yet to make dinner for two and she’s already late.