I woke up slowly, my head heavy, my thoughts a blur. For a moment, I was disoriented, confused by the stiff leather pressing against my skin. When I tried to move, the cold bite of metal reins pulling at my head stopped me. My arms wouldn’t move, bound tightly behind my back. I blinked hard, forcing my eyes to focus, but the blinders around my head restricted my view. I could only see straight ahead—nothing to the sides, nothing behind me.

Something was in my mouth. I tried to spit it out, but it was lodged there, firm and unyielding. A bit. The realization sent a cold wave of horror through me. I pulled at the straps binding me, leather harnesses digging into my chest and shoulders, winding down my body like something obscene. I was dressed—or rather strapped—into something I didn’t understand. Something I couldn’t have ever imagined.

I looked down and my heart sank. Boots shaped like hooves encased my feet, forcing my legs into a painful, unnatural posture. And then I felt it—something tugging at my lower back. A tail. A tail plug.

No. This can’t be real. This isn’t happening.

But it was. Every shift, every movement reminded me of the truth. The collar around my neck was heavy, tight, cold. There was no escape from the pressure of it. From the humiliating sensation of the bit, the blinders, the restraints, the boots—all of it transforming me into something I never wanted to be.

I tried to scream, to cry for help, but all that came out were muffled, pathetic sounds around the gag. Panic flared. How did this happen? Just days ago, I was at an event, shaking hands, giving a speech, free. And now I was here, wherever here was, dressed like an animal in some sick fantasy.

My body trembled. I was Emma Watson. Emma Watson. How could anyone do this to me?

The silence of the room answered my question. No one cared. Whoever had done this, whoever had captured me, saw me as nothing more than this now—a ponygirl. And there was no one to help me.