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(This is a continuation from my last story post.)
 
I was gone, I tried and tried to get back to Pastel. It was like I’d forgotten. The guards were, very confused to see a changeling walking around out of disguise. It was a couple months after the attack on Canterlot, so I guess I be thankful I wasn’t attacked.  
There was so much caution in how they approached me, I knew one of them personally. He didn’t recognize me. He knew Pastel. I was, hollow. Longing for something. He knew, but was there even a way I could talk to him? At least I could say I tried.  
“Hey icey.” I spoke, in my changeling voice.  
“Shifter, you don’t speak to like an acquaintance.” His words were like poison. Thinking back, I should have taken the hint.  
“Icey, it’s Pastel.” A little bit of desperation managed to weave into my voice.  
“You, are not Pastel.” Is this what I get for being afraid to be known as a changeling?  
“Well, what happens now? Am I arrested or something? I had nothing to do with the attack, pastel and you were playing sundew at the time!”  
“You are really sticking to that cover story aren’t you, shifter?” His words, perhaps it was my reaction to them, But he softened a little. He wasn’t sneering anymore.  
“Ice… I never told you did I?” I ducked underneath him and backed away. I had to leave, and I returned to feeling nothing.  
Somewhere along the way I changed into the form you see here. One that I can be corrupted marker in, and no-one will care.