She's standing in an idyllic green field. It's a warm spring day.

She feels...small. And—quadrupedal.

Next to her is a creature that looks vaguely like a very small, very neotenous horse, whose facial expressions are nonetheless difficult to mistake.

"This is a larger expenditure of Nirvana's intervention budget than I expected," she says dryly.

(She is not having any feelings about being utterly in the power of the gods of Good. That would not serve Asmodeus.)

She is, presumably, also a small neotenous horse. That's hardly the worst thing about this situation, especially if she actually is in Nirvana. On the other hand—

"I still have my sorcery," she says, "or something like it. Petitioners don't usually keep any magic, right?"

"No," she says, "but petitioners or not, this is very likely a Good god's doing. We must assume everything we see and hear has been optimized to turn us against our Lord's interests. I advise doing nothing as long as possible; our Lord's pride will not permit Him to suffer His greatest servants on Golarion being turned into ponies."

She does not say that, while Asmodeus will certainly avenge the slight to His pride, His vengeance need not actually involve getting them back. It would also be beneath His pride to spend too much on that. And there are worse possibilities, as well, that she dare not voice to Abrogail. She, (hopefully) alone of all mortals on Golarion, had an idea of what was actually at stake in the contest for Cheliax. And while the torments of Asmodean Hell would certainly never include ponies, Mephistopheles would love to have her think she was in Nirvana being broken into an instrument of Good. He might even actually do it, and then sell the result to Iomedae.

The thing that really serves Asmodeus, right now, is probably for both of them to stop existing. She doubts that's an option.

"I swore to let Asmodeus have his fun, as long as I could have mine, but it seems like our mutual entertainment may be coming to an end."

"Did somepony say FUN?! I love fun! Do you want to have fun together? Are you new here? I haven't seen you before, and I know everypony in Ponyville! What's your name? My name's Pinkie Pie. Do you want to be friends? I think this calls for a PARTY!!"

The odds of this being the work of Mephistopheles are increasing rapidly.

AAAAAAAHHHH wait she still has her magic and can Greater fucking Teleport a thousand miles away from here.

"Hey! Wait!" says the horrible pink demon thing, which is already at her destination. "Where'd you go? Do you not want to be friends? That's okay, Twilight didn't want to be friends with anyone when she got here either. We'll still throw you a welcoming party! Do you like—"

Abrogail lights her on fire.

"Oh!" she says, more a shocked giggle than a cry of pain. "I've never felt anything like that before. I like it!"

What the Abyss—you know what? Disintegrate.

Touch AC: lol you thought

Power Word Stun. Disintegrate.

Dodge that, Caydenspawn.

Pinkie Pie explodes into a mess of confetti and streamers that somehow get all in Abrogail's mane.

Sigh. At least it's gone.

"Hey! What'd you do that for, you meanie?" says a shrill voice from behind her.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH

"You know what?" she says aloud. "I'm not sure what powers decided to inflict you upon me, but I am not going to give Them the satisfaction."

"If you wanted to be left alone you should have just said that, silly!" says the pink pony, and trots off.

She Teleports back to Aspexia's location.

"We are being fucked with in a manner frankly uncharacteristic of Nirvana," she says. "It was already at my destination when my first Teleport completed. It professed to enjoy being lit on fire. When hit with a Disintegrate it turned into confetti" (she plucks a streamer from her mane) "and immediately reappeared behind me. Fucking Chaotic Good."

Aspexia shows no outward sign of horror at the fact that Abrogail immediately attempted to torture, and then kill, a presumably Chaotic outsider that had already demonstrated unexplained capabilities.

"I had come to the same conclusion," she says. "There may be such beings in Elysium, and no doubt many powers there Who consider tormenting Asmodeans with inane silliness to be turnabout and fair play. It could also be—Baphomet, or Someone of that sort. Only Asmodeus, among the Evil gods, has the dignity to show His nature so openly." It isn't Baphomet, but that name is a useful substitution for Who it actually is that doesn't reveal anything dangerous to Asmodeus' interests in the worlds where the danger hasn't already happened.

"My magic appears to work normally. Do you have a tuning fork for the Material, or Avernus, or any other civilized plane?"

If they aren't already in Hell, they shouldn't try to go there until she's learned more about the situation. If Mephistopheles has taken over, she'd be better able to serve Asmodeus trapped in Elysium as a pony.

"No items, no spells, and praying for new ones doesn't appear to work." It's dangerous to admit to Abrogail that they're beyond the range of Asmodeus' power to grant spells and likely also His sight, but it is, unfortunately, a feature of the situation that she could hardly conceal for long.

"What's your guess as to whether we're—in something Mindscape-like, or a real place? And as to whether we're alive in the sense that dying would send us to Hell?"

"If this is the work of a Good god then we are probably alive—there is not actually any god that can snatch my soul from our Lord's grasp and survive. Living mortals may be dealt with more freely. Similarly, sustaining a permanent Mindscape would be a fairly extraordinary expenditure. If this is, as I guess, an attempt at containment by someone unwilling to just destroy or imprison us, we've most likely just been dumped in a really distant part of Elysium. I assume that the Polymorph can't be dispelled, or else they wouldn't have bothered, and it probably isn't worth the spells to try."

This is all true, except for the part where the gods of Good probably had nothing to do with this and therefore whatever follows that conditional-clause is irrelevant. Permanent Mindscapes on living mortals are expensive, but Mephistopheles (or Anyone else) can comprehensively control the sensory inputs of a petitioner for as long as He likes.