The Butterfly Cult

by Proper Noun

Rating: teen
Tags: Human, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Other
Length: 6942

A young brony. A missing boyfriend. A reclusive cult. I thought I had my bases covered, but nothing was quite what it seemed.

I thought that maybe, just maybe, this "Butterfly Cult" would know what happened to my boyfriend, or be responsible for it.

As it turned out, nothing was quite what it seemed. I got in way over my head, but at least I had a Plan B, right?

Published 2013-06-09 23:10:03 UTC
Last updated 2013-12-15 03:16:39 UTC

Chapter 1

"I don't think they will actually be ponies. For all I know, this 'Butterfly Cult' is just a bunch of bronies with way too much Fluttershy paraphernalia." Greg, as my roommate calls himself, raises an eyebrow.

"You know, if I told you two years ago that you'd even consider hunting down a group of recluses from the Internet and implying they might not be humans, you would have laughed."

"That was before my boyfriend disappeared!" Greg looks away and I realize I snapped at him. I sigh. It's not like I'm the only one - Greg's entire family had gone missing a few months before she - I mean, he - moved in with me. The necessity was mutual - I couldn't make rent without my boyfriend, and he had nowhere else after his cousins won the legal fight over his parents' house. "Sorry. I just... yeah, I wouldn't be doing any of this if it weren't for him. I have to know, and this is my only lead."

"I wish you'd let me come with you," Greg says after a pause.

"Yeah, but you know the drill, and it goes double when they could be connected to everything that's been happening lately. Worry if I don't call by midnight, tell the police everything if you don't hear from me by morning."

"You're sure about this, Adrian?" I nod. I've been digging for this information for over a year, ever since it all started, and I'm as ready as I'm ever going to be. I've got their location, their knock, their pass phrase, and my hopes. Also a sandwich. Everything's better with a sandwich, or as one.

~*~*~*~

The old metal door doesn't have a buzzer. I knock, pause, then knock again. Then three times, then eight without stopping.

No response. I know to expect that, after all my research, and continue with the most ridiculous pass-phrase ever.

"I have a crush on Shining Armor." I keep my voice down as much as I can, but I still have to be heard on the other side of the door, and it comes out a stage-whisper. I look over my shoulder, back up the alley. It's dark, but there's enough indirect light from the street lamps to see I'm still alone, though I swear that garbage can wasn't there when I got out of my car.

I wait a few more minutes, keeping a nervous eye on the alley. No reply, though I reflexively swat at my ears when I pick up a sort of buzzing noise. Damn flies.

As I'm about to turn and go, the door swings inward with a long creak. There are no lights, but under the full moon, the entry room is revealed as barely closet-sized, with a lonely coat rack to the right of stairs that descend out of sight. My brain is throwing up all kinds of red flags.

This is creepy as fuck. Time to go.

I don't have a flashlight. How is this even supposed to work?

Who opened the door? It's too old and solid for a remote.

I push them aside, reminding myself that this is the only lead I have. My boyfriend's more important than some irrational fear of the dark. Still, this is not the kind of thing I would've expected from a bunch of Fluttershy fanatics. Unless they plan to flip on all the lights at once and yell 'Surprise!' when I walk in, I'm dealing with something else entirely. I pause in the doorway, looking into the gloom the stairs sink into towards what I hope is the bottom, and recount the facts.

My boyfriend went missing around the time the world started changing. The whole thing of animals behaving more intelligently; wild animals behaving in an almost domestic manner (except in Australia - I swear everything on that screwy continent is out to kill everything else); the increase in disappearances centered in, but by no means limited to, the United States; the strange-but-pleasant dreams everyone reported on full moons; and so on. Something is happening to the world, and my favorite theory is Brony Mad Scientists, but this place doesn't look like either a brony clubhouse or a mad science laboratory.

This is looking more and more like another dead end, no matter how much longer it took to get here than the police did to pursue the other false leads. In a way, though, that makes the situation win-win. If there's nothing here, I'm probably not in any danger. If there is, I can start by finding out what happened to my boyfriend, and fall back on my safety protocol if things go bad.

I realize I've been staring down towards the basement for at least five minutes. I shake my head, brush a few blond strands of hair from my eyes, and check my phone. 11:16 - I'd better get moving. Bolstering my confidence with the knowledge that I have a good plan, I head down into the darkness, and though I have to follow the handrail down the last few steps (creaking loudly all the way - it's a good thing I never planned to be stealthy), I finally settle my feet on what feels like the same painted concrete floor my parents had in their basement. The memory of that place makes me shudder.

Then I notice the smell. It's like grape juice and rotting leaves and musty, unwashed laundry all at once. It's strong enough that I could probably navigate by my nose alone, though I'd certainly rather not. Instead, I sweep my right hand over the wall to my side, trying to find a light switch. Nothing but blank plaster wall.

This is it, then. I'm going to either announce myself and hope for the best, or chicken out and, well, very likely never forgive myself for missing the opportunity to discover the truth. I swallow a nervous twitch.

“My name is Adrian,” I say. I'm trying to be clear, firm, and project my voice like I had learned during acting classes in college (not something I ever majored in, but fun, as far as electives go), but my voice shakes like a child admitting to breaking a bottle of Mommy's favorite vodka. I hadn't even realized how nervous I am until I spoke. Still, I force myself to continue. “I'm here for my boyfriend."

Water slowly drips into a puddle somewhere, and I hear flies. Beside that and the smell, the darkness refuses to answer me. I'm starting to wonder whether my sources were mistaken, or the Cult moved out. While the stink doesn't seem stale enough to be old, I have no remaining reason to believe I'm going to find any answers here. The thought of never knowing what happened feels like swallowing a triple cheeseburger made of lead, but I turn to leave. There's nothing for me here. The door must have been poorly latched or something.

As I feel around for the handrail to guide me back up the stairs, black gives way to bright white. I briefly register a sudden pain in the side of my head before everything turns black again, and all is silent.

Chapter 2

The smell is overpowering, and I barely hold back my desperate need to gag. That's the first thing I'm aware of. The second is an avalanche of pain against every inch of my skull. Last time my head hurt this badly, I was still living with my mom, and I moved out six years ago.

I groan, and something rustles near me. Must have scared off a rat or something.

Wait. Rats don't hit people in the head (speaking of which, ow ow ow ow ow). There must be someone else here, and it's too late to play unconscious. Okay. Figure out what to do now, panic later.

I open my eyes. Wherever I am is completely dark. That awful grape-y compost smell, though, tells me I can't have gone far. Clutching my head, I groan again, then consider my options.

One: Run and call for help. However, not only do I have no idea whether whoever hit me is ready to intercept me on the way out, but in the total darkness, I have no idea which way to go. On top of that, I didn't like the looks of the neighborhood as I came in; it's very likely no one would care. Finally, even if I could find help, I have no idea who hit me, and I'd sound like a total conspiracy nutcase who probably just fell and hit his head. Option One is a no-go.

Two: Call Greg. I already know better, though. From all my reading and movies, it's never a good idea to call your safety backup if you're already in trouble. You just get held hostage and either you're made to tell him you're fine, or the attacker takes the phone to creep him out. That's why my safety plan came to be as it is: The sign of trouble is not calling. I'm actually kind of proud of it. Not only does it do what it needs to do, but it does so without alerting anyone that the plan is in effect until it's too late for them.

Three: See where this goes. I don't have any good options for immediate escape, but I have a terrific plan (if I say so myself). With that confidence, I can simply go through whatever is happening and look for answers on the way - Option Three it is. With any luck, I'll be able to find my boyfriend, or at least another lead on him, while the police break down the door and arrest the bad guys. Okay, it probably won't go exactly like that, but it's a plan. Time to go to work.

"Hello?" I ask the darkness. It continues to drip and buzz at me, and I cough a couple of times to clear the odd falsetto from my tone. Sitting up, I raise my voice a bit. "Hello!" Stupid throat - that falsetto is persistent. I cough again, then shift some weight to my left hand so I can feel my neck with the right; maybe I suddenly have a tumor, or something.

Almost as soon as I raise it, my hand stops.

I'm sitting with my hands. Something is wrong with this picture. It would help if I could see the picture, but I can make do. To start, I sit up, and this time I mean really sit up. The way I was sitting before reminds me of some kind of dog. Almost immediately, I lose my balance and fall back down, landing hard on my hands with a very audible clop.

I sit still a moment, trying to process. Next step, I suppose, is repetition. I slap the floor with my right hand. Clop. Left hand. Clop.

That is not the sound hands make. That is a sound I think every child has mimicked with coconut shells.

“Well, shit,” I mumble, and try putting a hand to my face. It jerks to an abrupt stop halfway there, my wrists yanking in unison. Or yanking each other. A moment of inquisitive poking reveals they're cuffed together with some kind of strap, probably leather. It also suggests things about my fingers that I don't want to consider.

Okay, this is really bad. The fact I was hit on the head, and now I seem to be at least partially tied up, increases the likelihood I've been kidnapped by... a lot, and it was already pretty high. It also means it's doubtful I still have my phone or anything else useful, and that I'm probably being watched. Keeping Option Three in mind, I decide to find out by whom.

“Hello,” I say again. That falsetto is starting to bother me. Why won't my voice work properly? “My name's Adrian. Who's there?”

Flies buzz, and there's a hiss that reminds me of – oh shit, don't be a snake don't be a snake don't be a snake –

“You do not ask questions,” a somewhat masculine voice rasps from somewhere to my right. Its tone is devoid of inflection. “You obey and are not harmed.”

I swallow hard, resisting the urge to bolt by reminding myself that I have no idea which direction to run. I gather my limbs under me and try to lower my voice back to its customary range.

“Okay. Just let me know when you're ready to let me go.” The answer to that is silence again, broken only by a strange chittering buzz. “...hello?”

“You are funny,” the voice rasps again. His voice doesn't sound amused, though. “Stand.”

I decide not to test his patience any further, and obey, or try. While I do get my legs up, I lose my balance and fall forward onto my hands once more. The feeling reminds me distinctly of all those play sessions where I ended up on my hands and knees (the memory brings a fire to my cheeks), except that my feet are firmly under me and my legs are straight, which makes the same amount of sense as hands that go 'clop.' I don't like the picture this is painting.

I realize I missed whatever my concealed captor just said, and mumble an apology.

“Walk forward,” he repeats, his emotionless voice lacking the irritation I would have expected. Maybe I'm talking to a robot of some kind? But a robot that is capable of kidnapping people and having an interactive dialogue would be prohibitively expensive. Regardless, I try one last time to get up on my legs before resigning myself to a crawl that feels disturbingly natural.

“Stop. Hold still.” I wait. There's complete silence once more, besides the flies and, after a moment of intense listening, I pick up the sound of dripping water. Then, there is a cold and gentle touch around my neck, which I try to feel with one hand, but the cuffs remind me of their presence.

“What is – ”

“Follow.” What feels more and more like a metal noose tugs my head forward, and I quickly move the rest of my body with it. 'Get strangled' is not high on my list of priorities, though it seems 'strangle Adrian' is relatively high on my captor's from how quickly I'm being led. The quick 'clip clop' of my crawling jog, somewhat restrained by the cuffs, is also increasingly difficult to ignore.

Who would even have that kind of power, anyway? Magic is fiction. Lots of strange stuff has been happening, but the only people I can think of who could – wait, I'm not seriously considering –

“Ghllk!” I choke as the noose drags me along by my neck, and I struggle to catch up. I must have slowed when I drifted into thought, and pick up the pace to a quick trot – no, a jog that happens to be on all fours – so it doesn't happen again.

“Stop and wait,” I'm ordered abruptly, and can't halt myself quickly enough to avoid another brief choke before backing up. Then it's flies and water again. Still trapped in the noose and cuffs, there's not much I can do but what I'm told. I wait, and avoid thinking. I don't like the conclusions I'd have to draw if I start.

Chapter 3

It's been a while since anything happened. I call for attention a few times, but nobody answers. And in the total darkness, I can't tell the difference between minutes and hours. With all this time on my ... hands, and nothing to see or hear, all I can do is feel and think. Eventually, there's nothing to do but face uncomfortable truth.

"I'm a pony," I mumble. By my voice settling naturally where I once had to squeeze out a falsetto, I'm a female pony, at that.

Damn, I'm going to miss being gay. At least, I hope I'm not still gay as a ... a mare. I don't want to lose interest in guys, my boyfriend in particular. But how does something like this even happen? I'm on Earth, I was human a few hours ago, and magic. Is. Fiction! This is not a thing that happens.

Is it? I briefly wonder if this is how I lost my boyfriend. Briefly, because I'm interrupted by the loop yanking on my neck, forcing me to turn right and start walking. Clop clop clip clop. The sound irritates me, and I speak up to get my mind elsewhere.

"So, what's happening now?" There's no answer, and several more right turns later I'm convinced I'm being led in circles. I'm finally allowed to stop, though, on what feels like a dense carpet. Because feeling through my ... hooves ... totally makes sense. I guess it worked in the show.

"Eat," a voice rasps. It's a little higher, and maybe lighter, than the one before. I think. "You are going to need it."

"Whammph?" I start to ask, before a mass of granola - or no, just oats, I guess - is shoved against my mouth. It stays there, despite my attempts to shake it off.

"If you require help to eat, I could cover your nose." So I don't get a choice. That's alright, the police should be along soon. If this is poisoned, well, emergency services will already be involved.

So I eat, and discover raw rolled oats aren't all that bad. It's almost like my mouth was made for them. Wait, of course it is. I still have trouble accepting what happened, much less understanding how. So less thinking, more munching. I'm hungrier than I thought, and the oats are quickly gone.

"You are ready." No, I'm not. What am I even supposed to be ready for? "You will be fine."

"Easy for you to say." I give my cuffs an emphatic tug. "I don't see you cuffed and dragged around by your neck."

"No. You must wait until I am off duty for that." She, I suppose, pauses for a moment. The buzzing starts again, loud and close. It sounds like the flight of a locust or something similar, almost right in my face, and sudden realization distracts me from the heat rising in my cheeks.

"Wait, you're the one making those sounds? What are you?!"

"Laughing," she says - though as before, her expression shrouds itself in a monotone. "You are funny. My mate was correct. Guess twice." My mind races.

What sounds like a bug, speaks English, and hides in the dark?

What would it have to do with butterflies or Shining Armor?

I consider the last point first. The pass phrase "I have a crush on Shining Armor" has to mean something, but the stallion was remarkably absent from most of the series. He played a role in the Crystal Empire episodes - including Games Ponies Play and the season three pilot with King Sombra - but before his wedding, he and Princess Cadance didn't exist in the show at all.

What about butterflies, then? What significance could they possibly -

"Your time is up. Guess." A dozen thoughts flash through my mind, and I push them out of the way. If I'm a pony now...

"A pony?" A stab in the dark. Ponies don't sound like bugs, or live in the dark, but I feel I have to say something.

"Sometimes," she says. Oh, shit. There's only one creature I know of that can be a pony 'sometimes.' Now the relevance of Shining Armor is clear. "Second guess."

"A changeling," I stammer. I am so dead.

"A changeling," she concurs. I squint, trying futilely to bring up a hoof and cover my eyes against a sudden green light. When I can see again, the room around me is lit up by brilliant green magic from the jagged horn of a black, chitinous parasite: A smallish changeling drone wearing her native form and a big grin. Around us, the floor is covered in what looks like a fairly new carpet of the kind one might find on the floor of the waiting room at a doctor's office; it and the walls are what might be fairly neutral shades of brown, although it's hard to tell with the green lighting. There's no furniture of any kind, and I can barely make out the silhouettes of empty doorframes in the two walls furthest from the corner I'm standing in.

"I'm afraid to ask, but, what are you going to do to me?" I try to keep present the thought that the police should be breaking down the doors... soon. Very soon. Right?

"I am going to talk to you." Her tone is still flat, but I notice her wings flutter on various syllables. Perhaps body language is a more important part of their native tongue? Hang on, anatomy and culture later, I'm kind of tied up and cornered in a room with an emotional vampire!

"About what?" I ask warily. I've never seen a changeling speak, besides Chrysalis, and conversation with one is going to be a complete unknown.

"Why you are here." Darkness takes everything once more as she extinguishes her spell.

"And I'm here because what, exactly?" What's taking the police so long? Maybe they're fighting the changelings? But I don't hear anything suggesting a fight - just buzzing and the occasional hiss, which I'm now certain are more of my kidnappers.

"You do not understand. None ever come to us. We bring them in, instead. You came to us. Tell me why." Memories flash behind my eyes, and I stand silent. If his disappearance is their fault, knowing I came for him could make things even worse. It also might not, but I'm not interested in assisting these kidnappers anyway.

"Romantic love." It sounds like the changeling inhales deeply, and I can see a thin thread of green arc from me to her horn, seeming to spin in several directions at once as I feel my eyes cross. "Yours is obvious and tasty. Tell me what sort of fruit this is, that it tastes like."

"I can't taste love," I say flatly, hoping she did not intend to imply anything 'fruity' about my relationship or person. Although, I guess if there were a scale of gayness, getting turned from a male human to a pretty little girl pony would be pretty high on it. Maybe.

"No, you can not," she replies, with a light buzz. "So you believe we are responsible for the disappearance of your marefriend."

"Boyfriend." There's a brief pause before either of us speaks again.

"A novice mistake," the changeling says. "I am sorry."

"That's it?" My tone is more than a little incredulous. "You kidnap my boyfriend, do goodness-knows-what to him, kidnap me, completely change my sex and my species, tie my legs, lead me around on a noose, and the thing you apologize for is calling the most important man in my world my marefriend? What is with your priorities?! What do you think you're going to do to me? Where are the police? Where is my - " That's when a glob of something warm and gooey covers my mouth, reducing the next few words to noises that are like pulling a rubber boot out of thick mud - half-sucking, half-bubbling. I'm almost okay with that - I'd lost control of my outburst, and who knows what information I could have spilled if I'd been allowed to continue. I am not, however, okay with being gagged outside of the bedroom.

"You are right. I apologize for your wait. When you arrived, we did not expect a visitor. Your nap was delayed by the sentry not knowing what to do. He has been disciplined.

"I apologize for how long you had to sleep. We were beginning to move you to this facility and several police entered. If you are responsible for their coming, thank you." I groaned in my throat. Of course it would be too much to ask that unarmored men with small arms forcibly evict magical, flying, chitin-plated kidnapping shapeshifters that can eat emotions and perfectly mimic the form of anyone they see. Thanks, option three...

"I am a gatherer, but I did not execute your accommodation to perfection. I apologize."

"Stop playing with the food," says a masculine voice I recognize from earlier. His toneless rasp is frequently accompanied by a hard buzz. Anger? "You are to blame for the nightmares that lower production among half of the humans collected this month." A quick, sharp buzz in front of me is apparently the response, and I hear hoofsteps moving away. Then the noose jerks me into a quick walk, the sound of a moment's strangulation reduced by the substance over my mouth to a soft blup.

I am brought to a halt quickly, and feeling of dread creeps over me. This is the last stop, I think with certainty.

I hate it when I'm proven right.

A loud series of buzzes and hissing, and the room lights up with green. The details of the room don't catch my eye; I'm more concerned by the six changelings surrounding me, their horns all glowing brightly. The noose lifts from my neck in an aura of magic, but I'm not idiot enough to think I can get away with half my legs bound.

"Do not worry," says one of them from behind me. The voice is the one that apologized for all the wrong things. Did she really believe I wanted to be here? I amend that thought - yes, I wanted to be here, but not like this. "Nothing in your life will ever hurt as much as this."

"Idiot," says the one who, earlier, made it apparent he was her superior.

That's the last I pay attention to them, as a wall of brilliant green flame closes in from all sides. Time seems to slow.

"Shit, shit, SHIT!" Okay what do they do in the movies oh yeah they jump through the flames as fast as possible one two three GO! I dive into the oncoming doom - and faceplant, my bound forelegs failing me.

That's when I learn what it's like to be on fire.

Unconsciousness is the only mercy I receive.

Chapter 4

Time is no longer a blur of fire and screams. I'm resting on some kind of large cushion or pillow, my face buried what feels like soft, warm leather. Someone's arm is around my shoulders, and I can't stop crying as my nerves haven't realized they're not on fire anymore. I don't even care that I'm trembling like a little boy in his grandma's embrace - the residual pain is just too much to worry about manliness, or anything else, right now. A sweet voice coos soothingly in my ear, and I take refuge in the comfort and safety to pull myself back together.

Slowly, sanity asserts itself. I'm alive, I'm sure of that much. There's no way being dead hurts this much, and I'm pretty sure I'd be a human ghost, or soul, or whatever, but I still have four legs. I was just on fire, but looking down at my forelegs - I notice they're white, in the dim lighting - I seem to be completely uninjured. I'm also unbound, so I suppose I should figure out where I am. Not willing to relinquish my current warmth and safety, I barely turn my head to look around, and immediately regret it.

I'm in a cave, with some sort of bio-luminescent moss or fungus providing the light on the walls, but that barely registers next to my present company. All around me are undisguised changelings, going about their business with little more than the occasional curious glance in my direction. To the immediate left and right are four larger changelings, heavy with chitin plating and all watching me intently. Their hungry looks make me shrink in place, huddling closer against ... against... I look up, knowing I'll regret it.

"Queen Chrysalis," I squeak out, trying to pull away from the sudden iron-firmness of her embrace. The changeling raises an eyebrow, and looks down at me with an amused smile. My response is a flailing hoof in her face as I struggle to get free. She catches it easily with her magic, however, and holds it there. Now I'm even more trapped, and I feel a bit like a bug struggling with flypaper.

"You can't possibly fight me, silly little pony." It's kind of true. She is stronger than I am, she has magic, and she can fly. Plus, she's had four legs all her life, compared to ... however long I have. What am I supposed to do against that? I stop struggling with a sigh.

"Fine." She lets go of my hoof, and I let it fall next to its twin.

"You could make this easy, you know. This does not have to hurt." I want to give her a defiant glare or something of that sort, but being on fire and then completely overpowered has sapped my energy and will. All I have now is questions.

"...alright." I sigh. "Look, if I don't fight, could I have a few answers before you kill me?" Chrysalis looks at me like I'm some sort of special child.

"I'm not going to kill you. My children can't feed on the love of a corpse. However, I have nothing to gain by catering to you."

"And if I fight, I will lose. I... I know." I look down to the pillows and sigh, then an idea strikes me. "Still, if I fight, not only will I be hurt, but I might manage to hurt someone else, and if I understand correctly, a hurt pony isn't as good for food anyway, right?" I look up to see her nod, curiosity etched in one brow. "And, well... I wouldn't even be here, if one of the questions hadn't made me come looking for you."

"You came to us?" I'm quick to hide my smile, because she actually seems angry. "Are you an idiot?!"

"What do you mean? I would have thought - "

"Silence!" Chrysalis interrupts. Her sudden change of tone - and loss of volume control - brings the entire cavern to a standstill. There is no sound but her voice. "I send my children on dangerous gathering missions, expend nearly as much effort and energy acquiring food as we get from it, because ponies fear and hate us. And they are right to do so! We must kidnap them, we must imprison them, we must make them dream endlessly and feed upon them just to survive! And..." She takes a deep breath. Calm sadness spreads across her features as she finally lets go of me entirely, and I only take a half-step back to sit down, not wanting to alarm her or her guards.

"And it's horrible," the Queen says. Her volume returns to a conversational level, and the cavern begins to turn animate again as the other changelings go back about their business. "Why? Why would a foolish little mare like you ever come to us?" I wince at the mention of my new condition, but try to ignore it. I have an opening, and I'm not going to waste it.

"I want my boyfriend back. I know that's not going to happen now, and I didn't know who I was dealing with at first..." I sigh for effect, before looking up and giving her my most plaintive expression, or at least what I hope serves that purpose well enough. "But if you have any information at all, I'll rest a lot easier knowing what happened to him."

"Very well," Chrysalis says, rising from her pillows with assistance from her wings that makes the whole movement seem to flow beautifully. Something makes me feel it would be unwise to stand up with her, however. "Hold still, girl - " I wince. Is this how Greg feels all the time? " - and let me have a look. It will be easiest if you close your eyes and think of him."

I don't know what she intends, but that's alright. I'm already at her mercy. I shut my eyes, and try to imagine him again. I've kept a picture of us together on my desk, next to the computer monitor, since he disappeared, and that's the first place my mind goes. We're back in San Francisco together, sharing a kiss on the Golden Gate Bridge like every silly tourist ever. It's only a week before he vanished, and in the middle of the best day of our lives.

I feel the picture grow out around me, becoming my world. No longer a pony, I can feel the breeze in my then-short hair as I savor his lips on mine. Something nags at me about time and memory, but in his arms and under his lips, I could simply cherish the moment forever. And I will, when our photographer sends us the prints...

"Not just yet." I try to push away the foreign voice, but the picture is fading. I gasp for breath as my vision turns outward again, and I see Chrysalis standing over me, her horn bright green with active magic - though I can't see what she's doing with it. "But that was delicious. Strong, sweet, and sappy... how does maple syrup sound to you?" I have no clue what she's asking. I really just want to go back to... whatever happened with the picture.

"Um, it's good on pancakes and pigs-in-blankets, I guess?"

"Silly filly." I wince again, but she's smiling. Do I really want to challenge that? She murmurs something that I don't quite catch, and extinguishes her magic before continuing, "Your old names aren't really suited for ponies, so I sometimes give you former humans new ones. It takes a little magic, but it might become useful if..." Her face falls. "If I can ever find a better way. I am sorry, Maple. It is time to prepare you."

"But, what about my boyfriend?" Something in the back of my mind nags me. I shouldn't have responded so easily to Chrysalis's silly pet name for me. Maybe she's been messing with me. It doesn't take long to find everything in order, though. Where I grew up: Check. The car I drive: Check. My dad's name: William. My mom's name... I shudder. My name: Maple Syrup. No, that's not right. My name: Adrian. Better. I turn my attention back to her.

"Wait, what did - "

"A touch of name magic. Nothing too invasive; you should still remember your old one. As to your boyfriend..." She actually giggles. "One of my harvesters, in fact. He was reprimanded at least four times, that I know of, for getting too involved with the prey. Not that it ever stopped him." My heart twists in place before dropping through the floor.

"But, I - " I start to stammer out, though I'm interrupted.

"He loved you. Really and truly. Do not mistake secrecy for betrayal."

"And I should trust you to tell me the difference?!" I snap. "Maybe you've forgotten a certain wedding in - "

"Silence." This time, her commanding tone is absolutely compelling, and my mouth shuts mid-sentence before I can even think. "I do not forget my mistakes, but you are in no position to challenge me on them. Do you understand?" A nod from me, again before thinking. I try to ask what's going on, but my mouth won't move at all. "Now, ask your question, and mind your tone."

"What happened to Dom?" The question pops out, as gentle and polite as I'd imagine an old lady asking for the sugar for her tea. I grimace.

"I didn't ask for details." Her tone has returned to something normal, something I can actually talk to instead of obey like a puppet. "I only know that he was... lost... in an unpleasant part of your city. I can't imagine a race as xenophobic as yours left much evidence of what happened." The return of sadness to her voice barely registers. There's a pressure in my head, my brain struggling to reject what I'm told. I have to trust her, and I can't accept what she's said.

"No," I say, though it comes out as a whimper. "No, no no no..."

"My apologies won't mean much to you, but you will be with him again when your overdue preparations are complete. Now, rise." I don't feel the compulsion this time, but I get up anyway. I can't see the point in resisting. I feel a hoof and something cold between my shoulders, and flinch.

"Hold still," a voice beside me rasps. I turn my head to see a drone rubbing something out of a pail into my fur. The spot she rubbed it on tingles for a few seconds, then goes numb. I look up at Chrysalis with another sigh, though this one is provoked primarily by the tension I can feel leaving the muscles surrounding the numbness. The drone continues to coat me in the stuff, and I risk another question to give myself a much-needed distraction.

"What is it that you're doing to my world, then?" I note my voice is unwillingly gentle and polite once more, but at least the words are my own.

"I am doing nothing," Chrysalis replies, her tone clearly humoring me, "but the magic of Harmony that surrounds and permeates Equestria leaks through every time a portal to or from your... Earth?" I nod. "... is used. And what it doesn't recognize, what does not fit the Harmony of Equestria, it changes. Your kind arrives here as earth ponies, and I suppose that's fitting."

"Is it also fitting that I'm a mare?" Damn it! With this voice I'm forced to use, it sounds like an honest question. Then I squeak involuntarily, my train of thought broken by a cold, slick hoof in a place I shouldn't even have. I whip my backside out of the worker's reach, stumbling a bit when I find I can't feel three of my legs. I can actually feel my cheeks burning with embarrassment.

"Hold still," Chrysalis repeats for her drone. The difference is that when she says it, I can't disobey, and I find myself frozen in place like a statue. The other changeling simply continues her work as though nothing happened, and I am grateful for the distraction of Chrysalis's voice (even if it isn't nearly enough) as she casually explains... something. Even after I go numb... back there, I can't stop feeling it in the back of my mind. This is... it's just... ugh. If I ever get the chance, I am going to hug Greg for a year.

"You're almost ready, now. Go ahead and eat what's left."

"Eat wha--mmph?!" I snap back into the moment when the pail is shoved in my face. This routine is getting familiar, but it's not like I ever get a choice about it. I discover the goop in the bottom is faintly honey-scented, and just start eating, as I was told. It's sickly-sweet at first, but my entire mouth is numb after the first couple swallows of the pudding-like stuff. It's difficult to make my tongue cooperate now, and after a few failed attempts to swallow properly, I just stop trying.

"That should be enough. Take the pail away," Chrysalis instructs her drone. Turning her attention to me as the other changeling obeys, she says, "Try to walk, Maple Syrup." I nod, and promptly faceplant. It's probably lucky that I can't feel anything now. I try to get up, but my legs don't seem to work properly without the sense of touch. Maybe not so lucky.

"As I thought. Guards, bring her with me."

I feel like I'm slipping into a warm haze as two of the royal guards get me up and, one on either side, help me stumble after Chrysalis through a twisting maze of identical passages. I hear myself giggle something about "chasing the Queen's tail," but the world around me is starting to feel distant and unworthy of concern.

I am escorted into an enormous cavern, and actually pay attention for a few moments. One side is filled with sparkling green chrysalises - like those of monarch butterflies, only much, much larger - and they are piled high, almost to the ceiling. I spend a couple of moments staring before I hear the Queen's voice.

"Wrap her up." I don't bother to protest, and allow the guards to put me on the floor. They begin to roll me up tightly in the green... stuff... those chrysalises must be made of, and some part of my mind likens it to slipping myself into a sleeping bag, only even more snug and safe.

... safe?

"You are going to hibernate now," Chrysalis says. I barely realize that she means me; I feel like I could rest for a hundred years. I can already feel myself shutting down. As the world disappears, my head wrapped in green, it is replaced with one special picture, though I think I can still hear her as it grows out around me once more.

"I am sorry, my little pony. As to all my other charges, I promise you..." The queen sighs. "One day, I will find a better way."

I dream.