Collared
 
Weak. She was still so weak. All that effort to shed her old vulnerabilities. After leaving Equestria, learning to survive on her own, joining the Storm King’s ranks… it had all come down to nothing. She was still too weak. If the collar on her throat, its chain links jingling like little bells, was not enough to remind her of that then the bridle was. Its straps circled her cheeks, cut a furrow into her spikey mane, and dug sharply into her muzzle. The bit filled her mouth, preempting any cries of fury or fear. At the very least, she reflected, how tightly it held her jaw shut kept anyone from hearing the trembling she could not stop. But they could do nothing for the dampness in her eyes – dampness she cursed with every ounce of her remaining being. That traitorous tell-tale sign of emotions she had since cast aside stubbornly remained, threatening to spill over. A soft touch of fingers on her chin, effortlessly tilting her head back, broke the whirlwind of thoughts. “Now, Fizzle-“ A small part of her still hissed in anger at the use of her old name, but a larger part knew how meaningless fighting would be. How weak she was. “Now, Fizzlepop. We’re not going to have any problems, are we?” No. They wouldn’t. That was a truth as sure as the straps binding her, and it sent the tears spilling down her cheeks at last.  
-Lurkermoon