Spindle: I could feel the parties going on so far into the night, until around three in the morning. Parcly couldn’t sleep because I was silently feeding on the love generated there, warming up her heart subtly.
 
Parcly Taxel: Tossing and turning in my bottle, despite a heavy blanket covering it. I had visions of Ocean Flow arriving again to fulfill her previous promise of transforming me into a seapony – my hind hooves tingled for quite some time after they reformed into bone and muscle. Was I smitten by the sea now?
 
Breakfast had to take priority though. Through the cramped and narrow alleys inside Bali, replete with tattoo shops and art galleries and other places catering to the wave-seeking tourist demographic, I made my way to the Treehouse Café amidst more motorcycles/scooters and the occasional heavy vehicle, constantly in danger of getting run over at any moment.
 
Spindle: Across the street there used to be yet more tiny shops, but they had been demolished to make way for a condominium project. Reflecting on the development of Bali and Indonesia in general, accelerated by ever-closer contacts with scenes elsewhere, I remembered the prior colonisation of the archipelago by Holland which the locals eventually wrestled away from them seventy years ago in their War of Independence. It still occupies a prominent place in the national culture; I wondered if that attention had in fact prevented the full potential of the population from being realised.
 
Parcly: Having had eggs on toast alone (I was sure we were the first customers on this quiet Sunday, barring the “tropical” music playing from speakers overhead), I rested for a while before heading to Seminyak Beach at noon, which Flow had recommended over Kuta. There she was ready with the magical equipment required to effect the transformation.
 
Ocean Flow: Like Terramar, Parcly’s life has spanned two worlds, that of the princesses in Canterlot and that of the windigos that blow the world’s air currents into being from snow-crested peaks. I had made a necklace with pearls embedded in sapphires, the latter her favourite gemstone, and draped it over her neck at the seashore.
 
“Stare into the central pearl and imagine being carried away by a wave,” I whispered. “When you long for land again, imagine the grass under your hooves and repeat.”
 
Parcly: I did that, and the tingling returned to my hind hooves. The sensations started out identical to those I feel when I tether myself to my bottle, but rather than dissipating into the energies of oscillating mist, they persisted and drew closer, stretching out longitudinally in the process. My whole body lifted itself half a metre above the sand.
 
A deep purple sphere of magic enveloped me, whereupon I closed my eyes. Behind, my back mane rearranged, widening into a natural pennant. The magic below my waist tapered off, leaving behind a continuation of my torso into a sleek blue tail capped by a four-tipped fin – light pink on the outside, dark pink on the inside, just like my mane. My alicorn wings thinned out into delicate films, while my cutie mark appeared on a smaller fin on the tail’s upper rear section.
 
Flow: “Now swim to your heart’s content!” She was quick to embrace her new form, rushing headfirst under the breaking waves until a point where she could invert herself with just the tailfin surfacing. Then she rode back to the shore, outpacing surfers doing the same; she repeated all of this with frequent interruptions for underwater tricks until four in the afternoon.
 
It is said that a seapony’s personality is reflected in their fins’ styles. Parcly, very sophisticated yet shy around others, has a symmetric pointed streamlined tailfin, whereas her pectoral fins trade power for agility. The necklace I left to her as a gift, seeing that she was pleased with her experience.
 
Parcly: After transforming back into an alicorn, I waited for Balinese sunset, sipping on ice lemon tea and chewing seafood snacks. To my surprise, I was rewarded alongside everypony around with live music on the beach at six, with beanbag rests for convenience. What a Sunday treat in the party capital of Indonesia!
 
Spindle: PARTY! She was filled with so much joy as a seapony, she forgot to eat lunch. The music was so moving at Seminyak, she only left for a proper dinner after shaking herself out of a trance!
 
Said dinner was had at Jamie’s Italian back in Kuta. Like at the beach, a two-piece guitar-and-vocals band was playing, while the atmosphere ringed more melodic than beatsy. Chicken and lamb chops paired with spaghetti made for a perfect cooldown after all the shapeshifting and sand-shifting earlier in the day.
 
Parcly: At the end of it all, I was stuffed and had stomach pains walking back to the hotel. I never considered travelling to the nearby Gili Islands or Lombok, the next large island east. My life seemed complete; I could spend the next day just lounging where I was…