To The Letter

>You are a pregnant fluffy pegasus.
>Very pregnant.  You're so big you can't use your leggies.
>This doesn't worry you, though.
>A nice human always comes in and checks on you.
>He helps you make good poopies and get nummies and water.
>He even brought over your favorite soft toy to hug.
>You love him very much.
>From him, you learn there are babies waiting to come out.
>You're incredibly excited and can't wait to see them.
>You feel a little tired, so you lie in the big soft bed and rest.
>Owwies.  Owwies!
>There's suddenly a lot of pain from between your back leggies.
>It's like nothing you've felt before, and it scares you a little.
>You quickly realize that your babies want out.
“Babehs comin'!  Pwease hewp mumma!”
>The nice human usually comes when you talk loudly.
>Not this time.  You're on your own.
>You concentrate hard on the owwies.
>You feel yourself pushing somehow inside, even though you're not telling yourself to.
>Something wet and hot and solid comes out of your special place.
>You hear a squeaky chirpy noise.
>Baby!  It's a baby!
“Mumma hewe, come hewe babeh!”
>You're still too big to turn around, and the owwies aren't going away.
>Another wet, hot thing falls out of you and starts crying.
“Babehs!  No cwy babehs!  Mumma hewe!”
>Two more babies come out before you've returned to your normal size.
>You scoot around to them.  They start to hug your orange fluff.
>They don't look pretty.  They're covered in boo-boo juice and yucky stuff.
>Boo-boo juice and some yucky thing are on your pretty blanket.
>You hope the nice human won't be mad.
>The foals chirp quietly, searching and squirming in your tummy fluff.
>They want milk, but you have things you're supposed to do first.
>You gently grab a foal and hug it to you.
“Make babeh wook pwetty.”
>You clean the foal with your tongue.  It tastes awful, but you have to do this.
>When you're done, you have a small, pale yellow wingie baby in your forelegs.
>It smells very pretty.
“You good babeh.”
>It chirps a little in response to your voice.
>You open your mouth and carefully put its head between your teeth.
>You bite down.  It squeaks very loudly, causing the other foals to make fearful noises.
>It wiggles around as you bite down harder, thwacking your face lightly with its tiny forelegs.
>Once you feel it stop moving, you take it out and put it aside.
“No cwy, babehs.  Mumma make you wook pwetty too.”
>Their terrified squeaks seem to become a little more relaxed when you talk to them.
>You hug and clean the next baby, a bright blue foal with a nub on its head.
>It still chirps anxiously, but your embrace makes it feel safer.
>Once it's clean, you chomp on its head, too.
>You feel pee come out of it as it cries and thrashes, but you don't pay it any attention.
>Your mouth has boo-boo juice in it.  It doesn't taste pretty.
>You've got to keep going, though.
>The next foal squeaks as loud as it can while you clean it.
>It was hearing three siblings before, but now it only hears one.
>Despite being barely an hour old, instinct tells it something is wrong.
>You gently lick clean its purple fluff.  It has no wingies or head nub.
“Babeh cwean now.”
>It squeaks, waving its legs around as you pop its head into your mouth and bite.
>It wiggles frantically, peeing itself with the pain.
>Once it falls still, you place it with the other two foals.
>One more baby to clean.
>The slimy red wingie baby is wriggling around in your fluff, chirping desperately in an attempt to contact its siblings.
>When they don't chirp back, and you don't talk, it pees itself in fright and squeaks very loudly.
“No cwy babeh.  Mumma cwean you now.”
>It immediately starts crawling toward the sound of your voice, chirping at you to give it care.
>You respond to its cries, cuddling it softly while you clean it off.
>By the time you're done with it, its terrified chirps have become rhythmic, quiet squeaks.
>You place the whole foal in your mouth by accident.
>You have to chew on it for a while, like you do the grass nummies you get sometimes.
>You can hear its muffled squeaks of pain.
>You detect its nubby wings buzz against the sides of your mouth.
>You even feel it buck at your teeth with its little back legs.
>The foal pees in your mouth as you continue chewing.
>Doesn't taste pretty at all, but you're doing what you must.
>Once it becomes still, you spit it out.
>It's a bloody, saliva-covered, mangled mess.
>You are filled with a great sense of satisfaction.
>You are a good fluffy.  The dead babies prove it.
>You feel so happy as water begins to leak from your eyes.
------
>You've been watching this whole scene play out through the one-way mirror.
>The research department wanted to see if reset reprogramming could completely override instinct.
>Since the most instinct any fluffy feels is when a mother is cleaning her newborn foals, they tailored the suggestion to trigger then.
>They will be pleased.  She followed it to the letter.
>It's only the first test run, but it was a total success.
>You set the clipboard aside and enter the test room.
>She waddles slowly over to you, still bleeding a bit and in obvious pain.
>She's got a huge smile on her face.
>The kind a fluffy gets when they know they've been good and done what they were supposed to.
>”Wendee good fwuffy!  Wendee kiww good babehs!”
>You look behind her at the four dead foals, lumped into a bloody little pile.
“Yes Wendy, you're a good fluffy.”
>Her smile gets even wider as you confirm her success.
>”Wendee good fwuffy!  Wendee good fwuffy!”
>She's very happy.
>And yet, tears are streaming down her face.
>Looks like the suggestion couldn't completely erase the emotional realization of the deed.
>Better go make a note of that on the papers.