Celestia tried once again to conjure any magic whatsoever into her horn, focusing with the same level of strength she used to raise the sun. She winced and groaned mutely, experiencing nothing but strain and a faint headache threatening to crack her skull if she didn’t quit. She remained in her frozen-stuck pose, feeling even more defeated than before.

TF idea where ponies get turned into living mannequins, or ‘ponnequins’.

A precious plastic pony, precariously petrified and publicly presented. Possible permanence plays painfully plausible under the placid pronouncement, a perpetually paused pose of pristine perfect planes on a proudly placed plinth. Possible pleas purloined, the perpetrator prancing around the prized ponnekin, pleased the plastic princess no longer posed problems personally, proud that the prisoner was now their personal property.