And now I seem to be doing some careless filly’s homework. I found a writing assignment lost on the ground not far from my house. The prompt was interesting enough, so I took it up. Naturally, I’ve no idea how factual my version is. It’s not like a changeling would be willing to calmly discuss matters with me.
The fragile young filly did want to belong,
But was too weak to roughhouse or play.
Too tall, rather scrawny, not one to turn heads,
Thus ignored by the colts every day.
For her sake she withdrew, became distant, aloof,
Keeping far and away when she might.
Not angry, just hurting—was there no love for her?
And softly she wept every night.
Night became day, and day became night,
And slowly her heart was inured.
But while growing callous a danger arose:
She was falling, while she thought she endured.
Brooding alone, she bade others no ill.
Her poor heart collapsed on itself.
Never malicious, not hateful nor cruel,
But ignored, always left on the shelf.
Dozens of fillies heard her heart break,
And dozens of colts did as well.
On Hearts and Hooves Day, no more could she take:
Without knowing, she unleashed a spell!
In a jade fire cyclone, she twisted and writhed;
Wings formed, where they never had been.
And the ponies up close, surely felt their hearts drain,
While the ponies afar raised a din.
Then the new sable being felt a strange warmth
As the love from those near filled her heart.
As quick as it came, even quicker it faded.
These few weren’t a meal—just a start.
Rising up through the air, she surveyed the crowd,
While those drained slowly altered below.
Her first snack left her hungry, and her victims as well.
So born were the changelings we know.
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