For Want of a Maskby LDSocratesChaptersBedriddenDifferent StrokesCrusader ComplicationsCrusader Containment ConscriptionBedriddenPain. Pain, pure, primal, simple, was all she could feel as consciousness returned. Everything beneath her exoskeleton hurt, and she could vaguely feel the cracked shards of it shift and stab into her flesh the moment she tried to move. She gritted her teeth and let out a hostile hiss, screwing her eyes shut. “Ah, I see that you are finally waking,” a deep but feminine voice said at the edge of her awareness. “I hope that my aid has helped with your aching.” As the pain made room for the rest of her senses, she could finally make out more pleasant things. She could feel a thick blanket draped across her lower half, though she dared not move her forelegs to drag it across the rest of her. The soft crackling of a fire reached her ears along with the sound of bubbling water, the heat of the flames warming her carapace where the blanket could not. “Who’s there?” she hissed, her eyes still shut from the pain. “Just a hermit who lives in the wood, who tries where she can to do a little good,” the voice responded. There was the sound of something breaking the surface of water, and then the sound of it being poured into a cup. “You are quite lucky I found you this morn; you looked quite beaten, your shell cracked and torn. For a while I thought that I could not keep your death at bay, but it seems you will not perish this day.” She grunted, mentally deciding that this mare was already getting on her nerves. She forced her eyes open and waited for them to make sense of the swirl of color. It soon came into focus and she found herself looking into a pair of dark teal eyes. She hissed again and tried to back away, only for the hiss to devolve into a howl of pain the moment she moved a muscle. “Calm down now, no need to fret; I am many things, but I am no threat,” the owner of the eyes advised. She couldn’t get a good look at her host because her eyes were once again shut tight as agony wracked her body. She panted as she tried to will the pain away when she felt the edge of a wooden cup pressed against her lips. “Here, drink this brew,” her host insisted. “It will help with what you’re going through.” She lifted a foreleg to smack it away, but screamed again and let it fall limp to her side. She growled as deeply as she could before forcing her eyes open to glare. Beside her sat what looked like a pony, yet clearly wasn’t. Instead of a bright coat and mane, the mare before her had light grey fur with darker gray stripes. An equally strange mane style was perched atop her head, looking almost like a trimmed hedge with how straight and tall it was. A pair of golden hoop earrings hung from her ears, and her neck had three equally golden rings around it. A zebra, if she recalled the name. Gaudy jewelry, annoying verbal tick… annoyance turned to hate. She looked down at the wooden cup to see the still bubbling liquid inside wasn’t water at all, but a strange, murky orange ichor that smelled like burnt plastic. She looked up again and glared at her host. “Not feeling up to being poisoned, thanks,” she rasped out. Her host chuckled. “Please, if I had wanted you dead, I would have left you in the forest, where none dare tread,” she explained. “This potion will help your wounds, you know, though I admit it tastes like pure woe. I suggest you drink it to ease your pain, unless you’d like to scream again?” She snarled, looking to her host, the drink, then back again. “Fine,” she spat. She closed her eyes and tried to channel her magic, but she just heard it sputter. “Damnation… can’t concentrate through all this pain!” “Here, allow me.” The zebra raised the cup to her guest’s lips, pouring the potion down her throat. She spluttered and gagged against it, but managed to swallow it all down. Tears came to her eyes as she choked, knocking the cup to the side with her muzzle. “That tasted like sadness and fear of death thrown into a blender!” she coughed, each heave of her lungs sending another wave of pain through her. “Health is rarely ever free,” her host chuckled, rising to all fours and turning towards a nearby doorframe. The injured guest noticed that she was in a bed in a small alcove, with a clear view of a bubbling cauldron in the center of a small house. Instead of stone or brick or even wooden planks, it looked to be one of those houses carved directly into a tree, judging by the rings circling the floor and the lack of seams or nails. Her eyes wandered down to herself. Wherever the pain was at its worst, there were bandages wrapped expertly around the wound, the gauze stained with her sickly green blood. A yellow fur pelt covered in black spots covered her lower half, not a blanket like she originally thought, and she could only assume she was in the zebra’s bed. She stared at her host’s back and plot as she tended to her cauldron before finally demanding, “Why are you helping me? Don’t you know who I am?” “The path of knowledge I have not forsaken. You are a changeling, a queen, if I am not mistaken,” the zebra said, wandering out of her guest’s line of vision. “Though I am sure others would bring you before a judge, against you personally, I have no grudge.” She couldn’t help but laugh, but it turned into a pain hiss. “I’m wanted all over the continent; I’m a villain to everyone I meet. Millions probably want me dead by now. You could easily turn me in or kill me and be a hero. Why aren’t you?” she asked. The zebra returned to her sight and looked at her with a gaze that she couldn’t read, one somewhere between pity and determination. “Because mercy is something everyone in need deserves. My place is not to judge, just to serve.” She scoffed, smirking at her host. “How delightfully naïve of you.” “Call me what you wish,” the zebra said, ducking back out of sight, “but it is I who kept you from being some predator’s dish.” She shifted slightly, the pain slightly duller. “I think I may have preferred that to being trapped with you. Must you always rhyme?” she groaned. “Sorry if it irks you, but it is simply my way; thinking up rhymes helps me think about what I say,” the zebra responded. “A loose tongue and hot head can cause no end of grief, and I came to this place to get some relief.” “About that,” she started with an incredulous raised brow, “where exactly am I? Looks like the middle of the boondocks.” “There are no docks of any kind; we are quite far from the sea,” the zebra explained. “Right now you are in the grip of the Everfree.” “The Everfree Forest,” she repeated, holding back a huff and laying her head back against her pillow. “I suppose there are worse places to end up.” She blinked, a thought striking her. “How far into the forest?” “The closest town is many a mile. I wasn’t kidding when I said I live a hermit’s lifestyle,” her host explained. A wicked grin crossed the changeling’s face, her mind racing with even darker thoughts. “I see…” “But my manners lie forgotten,” the zebra added. “I did not mean for our introductions to be so misbegotten. Zecora is my name; what is yours, fair dame?” “Flattery will get you nowhere,” she snarled. “But I suppose there’s no point in lying, since you already know what I am. My name is Chrysalis. Queen Chrysalis.” “Flattery was not exactly my intent, but you’re allowed to think what you want in any event.” Zecora trotted back into the alcove with a sickeningly warm smile. “But whether or not you think I lied, is there anything else I can provide?” Chrysalis frowned and looked Zecora up and down, looking for the slightest hint of treachery, when she felt the gnawing of hunger at her gut. “It doesn’t exactly matter,” the queen sighed angrily. “Unless I get some food, I’m going to starve to death regardless of any wounds.” “I admit, my knowledge of your kind is quite small,” Zecora confessed, frowning in concern. “Just let me know your kind’s diet and I’ll see if I can find it at all.” Chrysalis chuckled darkly. “Changelings feed on love, hermit. Really any emotion will do, but unless I have some love to feed on, I won’t recover. Trying to survive on anything but love would be like your kind trying to live on produce from a compost heap: disgusting, degrading, and will eventually end in death anyway.” Zecora rubbed her chin and hummed in thought. “I have a measure of love for all living things, but I doubt it’d be a feast of kings. I would be happy to provide, but I’m not sure how even if I tried.” Chrysalis raised a brow and looked the zebra over anew. “You seem awfully willing to be fed upon by the likes of me.” “It is in my nature to give, especially if it is so another may live,” she said, her smile returning. “Just tell me how I can give you what you need, and I assure you I will do such a deed.” “Your naiveté continues to astound me,” Chrysalis muttered. “Just lean in and I’ll do the rest. Focus on something or someone you love; it’ll make it much easier to feed.” Zecora nodded mutely, thankfully, and did as the queen asked, leaning over the bedridden changeling. Chrysalis opened her fanged maw as a green mist started flowing from her host to down her throat. “So sweet,” she purred, closing her eyes and drinking hungrily from the wellspring of love before her. Her eyes snapped open when she suddenly felt the connection severed. The zebra’s eyes were glowing a bright yellow, but only for a split second before returning to normal. The zebra panted and heaved as she said, “That is enough for now, I think; I did not expect to feel so drained from your drink.” “How did you do that?” Chrysalis hissed, raising her head from her pillow as much as she dared without howling. Zecora chuckled as she limped away. “Do not look at me with such scorn; not all magic comes from a unicorn. Just because I am kind does not mean I’m naïve. I always have a trick or two up my sleeve. I could feel you trying to suck me dry, but I’m afraid that I wasn’t about to lay down and die.” Chrysalis’ eyes narrowed as she eased her head back onto the pillow with a huff. “You’re far more useful to me alive than dead right now; I just couldn’t help myself. Your love wasn’t the most filling I’ve had, but it tasted very rich. Who or what were you thinking about?” “My loves and my life are my business alone,” Zecora panted, leaning against her cauldron. “I have not prodded you about your own.” Chrysalis couldn’t help but laugh, though the agony that overtook her chest turned it into a series of pained coughs. “There’s not much to tell,” she said through her hacks. “I love only my children, my hive. I have no room for anything else.” Her eyes shot open. “My subjects! Please tell me you saw some of them out in the forest. There were hundreds with me before I crashed!” “Sorry to say, but I saw none; you were the only one,” Zecora said sadly, trotting out of sight to the sound of clinking bottles. Chrysalis tried to rise from her bed, but collapsed with another scream. “You said that gunk would ease the pain!” she snapped. “You really did poison me, didn’t you?!” “All things take time, and you aren’t exactly in your prime,” Zecora sighed. “Please, do not move about, or your wounds may reopen and make you bleed out.” Chrysalis snarled and gritted her fangs. “I need to get back to my hive. They’re absolutely lost without me; none of them know how to lead or what to do without a leader. They’ll be hunted down and hanged!” “I think you think too lowly of your food. I doubt they would resort to killing your brood.” Zecora returned in sight to pour a few things into her cauldron before starting to stir. “You think too highly of them,” Chrysalis spat. “It’s the nature of prey to fear their predators. They have the numbers and the technology while we’ve had to hide in the shadows for generations until our threat was forgotten. If I don’t recover soon, all my children will be dead.” “And if you fall over dead, the line finally crossed, your herd will truly be forever lost,” Zecora said back over her shoulder. “Please, relax and let yourself rest. While you’re under my roof, you’re my protected guest.” Chrysalis growled, but in the end lay back in the zebra’s bed. “Very well, but you better not be leading me on. If I find even the slightest hint of treachery, you’ll wish I cast you into the gates of Tartarus.” “You’ll soon find your fears to be quite silly. I hold no ill intent towards you, really.” Zecora drank deep from her cauldron, her stance suddenly getting stronger. “We’ll see about that,” Chrysalis muttered as she looked out the window next to her head. It was dark out, as she supposed it always was in the Everfree. Though through the canopy above she could see the soft glow of the moon and stars peek down at her. The panic and adrenaline of her motherly instincts waning, she felt the pain numbing effects of the brew seep in along with a strong urge to sleep. In no shape to fight it, her eyes gently drifted shut. Different StrokesSunlight trickled through Everfree’s thick canopy the next morning as Chrysalis lay in bed. She assumed it was morning, at least. All she could see was that the sun was up, but she could in no way tell where in the sky it was. The hut was quiet save for her soft breathing, birds chirping outside, and the sounds of other assorted wildlife. Not even the crackle of the fire under the cauldron kept her company. “Blasted birds,” she mumbled under her breath. “Lucky I can’t use magic or I’d have blasted one to pieces to scare the others off by now.” She scowled through the incessant noise as she ruminated on progressively more cruel things to do to the pests when she became well again. Eventually her mind wandered from the minor annoyance of songbirds to the outright fury of the ponies that put her in her condition. “Won’t make the mistake of leaving the bride alive again, even if she is an alicorn,” she muttered to herself. “I should’ve waited until I figured out how to kill an immortal anyway. I’ll have to get rid of her sister in law, too, just for being such a thorn in my plot. I should never have sent her into the Canterlot mines with the bride; burning her to a crisp on the spot would have been worth the risk of someone finding the remains. When I return, that’ll be too quick, though.” She cackled softly. “Ohoh, far too quick. Maybe I’ll dress up her brother in full battle gear and suck every last drop of love out of him; watch as the hate-filled husk that’s left kills her. Yes, that sounds good… though, how in the name of Tartarus’ flaming pits am I going to harvest this country now that-” Her vengeful musings came to a grinding halt when she heard the latch on the front door come undone. The hinges creaked and hooves met wood, and within seconds in came Zecora to her line of sight, a hooded robe draped across her back. “Where have you been?” Chrysalis demanded, lifting her head from her pillow ever so slightly. “I woke up hours ago to find you gone, and I think your rancid painkiller has worn off.” “I apologize for being a little slow; I did not expect you to miss me so,” Zecora chuckled. Chrysalis huffed. “I miss you like a booster shot to the plot; painful, embarrassing, but ultimately necessary for my health.” Zecora rolled her eyes as she hung up her cloak, revealing saddlebags underneath. “There were some things I needed in town, so I went there to track them down. I will have your medicine mixed in a bit, but I haven’t even had the fire lit.” The changeling chuckled darkly as her zebra host took off her saddlebags and rustled through them. “No doubt everyone’s talking about what I did, hm?” “The news has set many tongues afire, and it seems you and yours have earned a lot of ire,” Zecora said, pulling out a few jars and sacks from her bags. “There is much hate for you and your hive, though most just seem glad the princesses are alive.” Chrysalis scoffed. “Naturally. Wouldn’t want their precious princesses coming to any harm, now would they? Never mind all the civilians that were there; as long as a fat alicorn plot sits on the throne, all is right with the world.” “From what I’ve heard, Celestia is no mere sitter. Though from what I’m hearing, you’re quite bitter.” Zecora leaned down and blew on the wood under the cauldron, a fire suddenly springing to life. “Ponies frankly disgust me,” Chrysalis said with a guttural snarl, as if thinking about it collected bile in her throat. “They’re herd animals that cling to an arbitrary social ladder based on gold and cloth and hearsay. All their talk of love and peace and tolerance are simple pretentions I can take away just by opening my jaws.” “Believe that if you will and drown your heart in spite,” Zecora started, shaking a few samples of her purchases into the cauldron, “but a wolf can take its prey’s blood with a simple bite.” Chrysalis raised an eyebrow at her host. “And what exactly is that supposed to mean, oh wise hermit?” she asked dryly. “It means that just because something can be lost, it does not mean its absence lacks a heavy cost. You speak as if love is some mask or lie, but any world worth living in needs no small supply.” Zecora picked up her stirring staff and did just that, the brew inside her cauldron bubbling even though Chrysalis couldn’t recall the zebra ever filling it with water. Chrysalis set aside her questions about how Zecora was doing what she was doing and huffed. “You haven’t seen someone until they get sucked dry by a changeling. Love is a keystone in a very broad arch. Take it away, and down comes their loyalty, their compassion, their self esteem, and their trust. Eventually all that’s left is a hateful, treacherous, cruel, suicidal, paranoid husk of a creature. The very thing that defines goodness and holds civilization together can come undone as easily as any knot. It’s pathetically fragile at best.” “As is any great work of art, but just because it is weak does not mean you should tear it apart,” Zecora said evenly. Chrysalis’ brow furrowed and her lips curled into a frown. “Don’t preach to me, hermit. It isn’t a matter of should. It’s a matter of necessity. Without gorging on love every now and then, we die.” She stopped and shook her head with a scoff. “Though don’t get me wrong; I have no qualms about it. Robbing these pathetic creatures of their petty, monotonous lives to feed my children and I is almost too good for them.” Zecora hummed in thought as she stirred, not saying a word. “Nothing to say to that, do you?” Chrysalis chuckled. “No witty rhymes or fortune cookie wisdom?” “I just wonder if, dear queen, there were a way to get love by other means,” Zecora mused, taking her stirring staff out, dripping with orange ichor. “If some arrangement could be made, if on some deal you could decide, so that you and yours would no longer have to skulk, hunt, and hide.” She trotted out of sight again. “Nobody would ever give love willingly to a changeling, save for a fool like yourself,” Chrysalis snarled, looking up at the ceiling. “We’re monsters that haunt the minds of grooms and brides alike, hoping to their demi-god princess that the pony they’re marrying isn’t one of us, with ridiculous rituals and methods to make sure they aren’t.” Chrysalis scoffed while Zecora came back with her wooden cup, dipping it into her cauldron. “A long time ago there were even changeling hunts, though often they resulted in some poor colt or mare getting lynched or burned at the stake for no reason. Even if I wanted my children to freely associate with such petty, ignorant beasts, it would never work.” “You have obviously given this possibility much thought,” Zecora observed, trotting over with the smell of burnt plastic in the air. “One would think that you’ve considered acceptance being sought.” Chrysalis glared at the zebra, ignoring the offered medicine. “You’re prying too much into the thoughts and life of a mare that could easily destroy you when she recovers. Why do you even care, anyway? Any one of my sons or daughters would have happily sucked you dry if we’d succeeded in our coup. Your love is so rich that I may have kept you to myself to snack on. Healing me won’t earn you any favors; you’re still my prey.” Zecora stayed silent, motioning towards the changeling’s medicine. With a low growl, Chrysalis relented and put her lips to the edge of the cup, the zebra tilting it up for her to drink. “I expect nothing in return or any reward,” Zecora said softly as Chrysalis choked the brew down, “nor do I expect mercy from you and your horde. My charity comes from the depths of my heart, even if others would not think my actions smart.” Chrysalis nudged the cup aside after it had been drained, gagging at the rancid taste. “If I didn’t already feel like vomiting from that foul potion, I certainly do now from that saccharine nonsense.” “Nonsense or not, it is how I feel.” Zecora turned around and cantered away out of sight once more. “As long as I have done good I don’t care if I’m your meal.” Chrysalis raised an eyebrow. “Some would consider that suicidal.” “That would not be the first time that has been said. After all, I live in the forest the whole nation dreads,” Zecora chuckled darkly as she trotted back into view, sitting in the doorway to the bedroom’s alcove. “This place is where darkness and evil is fraught, so really, who is to say that I am not?” Chrysalis looked the zebra over before looking out the window with a sigh. “The more and more I talk to you, the more and more you vex me, hermit.” “I tend to have that effect, I’m told, but you confuse me too, if I may be so bold. Your love for your children is quite clear, yet you harm all others with great cheer,” Zecora said. “I don’t understand how someone with such a trait can also harbor so much bile and hate.” “Keep wondering and get used to disappointment,” the queen scoffed as a crow flew by the window. “I’ve already told you far too much already. I don’t even know why I’m talking to you so much in the first place.” Zecora chuckled. “How long has it been since you had a candid conversation with someone that wasn’t one of your relations?” Chrysalis’ ears drooped slightly and her eyes narrowed. “I can’t remember; decades at least. This is the first time I’ve even been out of disguise in a long, long time.” She felt the zebra’s nose nudge her side, and she turned her head to face her again. A sad, pitying smile was on Zecora’s face. “Then perhaps since you don't talk much to others, you should begin, and I mean to ponies who are not one of your disguised kin.” Chrysalis let out a low hiss before turning back to the window. “Do not presume to know what’s good for me, hermit. I have lived hundreds of your lifetimes and will live hundreds more. My wants and needs are beyond your understanding.” “I do not think they’re that bizarre; after all, I’ve understood you thus far,” Zecora said cheekily. “Keep pushing it and you’ll find out how hard it is to understand anything with your brains outside your head,” Chrysalis snarled. “Very well, I will leave you be; besides, the potion should kick in shortly,” Zecora said, her hoofsteps getting farther away. “I have some herbs I must gather from the wood. Please, let yourself rest, it will do you some good.” Chrysalis just gave a noncommittal growl in return before the door opened and closed again, leaving her alone once more. The scant sunlight that could pierce the veil of leaves shined down on her as her eyelids grew heavier. Unable to fight it anymore, she let them close, and sleep took her once more. Crusader ComplicationsIn truth, little is known about changelings. Since her Royal Highness outlawed the practice of local changeling hunts due to possible innocents getting unjustly hanged, changeling sightings have become rarer over the centuries. The lack of paleontological evidence has lead most scholars to believe that changelings never truly lived in Equestria, and sightings were just the result of feverish paranoia due to the rumors of their threat across the eastern sea… …All that is known about changelings comes from ancient records found in what recently became the Griffon Confederacy and from the horses of Arabia. Even then, changelings were extremely elusive and few concrete answers can be found. It’s hard to tell fact from folktale, as changelings feature prominently as monsters and villains in many fables across the world. Common themes across all variations of those stories is the changeling’s modus operandi of taking the place of a loved one and somehow feeding off them like a parasite. What becomes of the creature they replaced is different depending on the version, from murder to being spirited away to the changeling’s hive. The loved one being replaced also varies depending on cultural fears. Sometimes it is a spouse, sometimes a sibling, and in many versions a child… …Another common character in these tales is the changeling queen, though her name and role is never the same from version to version. In some versions, particularly from southern Arabia, she’s a seductress who hides among a ruler’s lovers and eventually draws him under her spell, bringing his country to ruin. Another from the northwestern Griffon Confederacy portrays her as a bloodthirsty conqueror and usurper, though it should be noted ancient griffon politics meant that the fact the Queen was a female ruler is what made her a villain, not her tactics. A full index of the various versions can be found in… …The most infamous disasters attributed to changelings are the periodic mass disappearances. Every case is essentially the same: changeling sightings or rumors of loved ones acting strangely would climb in an area, be it a village, a city, or an entire country. Communications would suddenly cease, and when outsiders would eventually come to investigate, they would only find empty streets and a few violent, death-seeking survivors left… …Though some changeling fossils and other remains have been recovered, a live specimen has not been captured since antiquity. Aside from sketches of a dissected changeling by the griffon natural philosopher Sir Leopold VI, changeling anatomy is virtually unknown to modern science. Zecora slammed the book shut and sighed. “An ancient book penned that’s yet another dead end.” She slipped it back on the shelf and started skimming the titles once more. “Sorry, Zecora, that’s the last book I have that would have what you’re looking for,” Twilight said behind her. “I’ve looked over these books myself since the wedding; information on changelings is scarce at best.” “Do not fret and apologize, Twilight; better yet, do neither. If I recall, pony scholars have not studied dragons much either,” Zecora assured, turning around and putting a hoof on Twilight’s shoulders. Twilight smiled a bit and sighed herself. “I admit, the past greats of science and discovery weren’t exactly the bravest. The fact we have so little information on the greatest threats to our kind and country is more than a bit alarming.” Zecora chuckled and nuzzled Twilight encouragingly. “I have traveled many places, and in all I have found this true: many are ruled by fear, so real discovery is up to mares like you.” Twilight’s cheeks turned red, her smile growing. “Thanks, Zecora. And good luck on that potion! With the changeling threat back in the public eye, a potion that would turn a changeling back into their true form would do wonders to keep everypony safe and help them feel safe.” Zecora cringed inwardly at her own lie as she got up to leave. “I will let you know what I come up with, my dear friend, though I make no guarantees there’s anything to be found in the end.” Twilight chuckled as she escorted her friend to the door. “If anypony in Equestria can do it, Zecora, it’s you. You just need to have faith in yourself.” She pulled the door open for Zecora and waved as she walked through. “Hope to see you again soon!” Zecora mutely waved back as she cantered back into the dirt streets of Ponyville. The summer sun beat down on her head with a flaming cudgel, so she pulled the hood of her cloak back over her head. As she cantered along the morning streets, the locals gave her a few warm greetings and earned a warm smile back, while visitors gave her ogling stares and got a warm smile and a nod anyway. A few ponies stopped her to chat, mostly about special orders for potions. Derpy needed more Fleet Flight Philter to help with her steering; Yankee Doodle asked how the Sweet Soul Potion for his temper was coming along; Cheerilee asked for something to help her stay up to grade papers, so the zebra promised to brew up some Midnight Oil Draft; and Cloud Kicker asked for the same thing for a very different kind of… endurance. After a while, though, Zecora started to notice the sound of rustling leaves behind her as she walked. After a few moments of intense listening, she stopped dead in her tracks and snapped her head over her shoulder. The street was empty save for a few bushes and the other ponies milling about as they started their day. Zecora swept the area with her eyes before turning her head forward again and continuing her trek home. A small smirk came to her lips and her eyes rolled when she heard the rustling start up again along with her hoofsteps. Soon she was at the edge of town, the rustling following her all the way. She crossed the bridge across the small creek that lead to the Everfree Forest. With a sly smile, she stopped again and about-faced to see a bush sitting in the middle of the bridge. “Sweetie, Apple Bloom, Scootaloo; come out, I know that it’s you,” she snickered. A trio of disappointed groans came from the bush before the three fillies climbed out, their Cutie Mark Crusader capes on and covered in leaves. “Told you it wouldn’t work,” Scootaloo scoffed. “Hey, you were the one too scared to ask,” Apple Bloom giggled. “I was not!” Scootaloo huffed. “Besides, the bush thing was Sweetie’s dumb idea.” “It works all the time on TV,” Sweetie grumbled, tracing shapes in the bridge with the edge of her hoof. “Sneaking up on me is no easy task,” Zecora chuckled. “Now, please, what did you want to ask?” “We wanted to see if we could help with your potion making!” Apple Bloom answered with a big grin. “We’ve tried basically everything in town, but the girls here have never been to your place.” Zecora’s smile turned into a skeptical frown, an eyebrow rising. “Apple Bloom, surely you remember the crisis so dire when you decided to steal and eat the flower Heart’s Desire? If in three of you I place my trust, I’m afraid you’ll make my house combust.” Apple Bloom chuckled nervously. “Well, yeah, but I learned my lesson there. No more stealin’, especially things I don’t really understand.” “What does combust mean?” Scootaloo asked. “Explode,” Sweetie said. “Oh… cool!” Scootaloo grinned wide, but it was quickly dashed when she saw the other two Crusaders glaring at her. “I mean, um… we would never do that! On purpose.” Zecora’s other brow raised, her eyes sweeping across each of the trio and her hesitance clear. “C’mon, please Zecora?” Apple Bloom asked. “You know how good I behave at your place! Well, yeah, except that one time, but still, I’ll keep the other girls in line!” “Yeah, we’ll be good,” Scootaloo insisted, shifting excitedly on her hooves. “Please?” Sweetie Belle added, complete with bottom lip wibble. Zecora looked between each of the Crusaders again before letting out a sigh. “Very well, you’ve talked me into submission, but you can only follow me home on one condition.” “Anything!” the three squeed in unison. Zecora chuckled again in spite of herself. “The problem is that I have a patient under my care, one who was caught and injured in the forest’s snare.” “Why haven’t you taken her to the hospital?” Sweetie gasped. “Yeah, the Heart family would fix her right up!” Scootaloo added. Zecora’s brain scrambled for a second to think of an excuse, but only a second. “The hospital would stick her with a bill, while I will heal her just in good will.” “I guess that makes sense,” Sweetie admitted. “All I ask is that you don’t follow me inside until I make sure my patient’s eyes are open wide,” Zecora said as she turned around, leading the three fillies deeper into the forest. “Huh?” Scootaloo blurted behind her. “Awake, Scoots; she means awake,” Apple Bloom translated. “How do you know that?” Scootaloo asked back. “You get used to Zecora speak after a while, I guess,” Apple Bloom chuckled. Zecora’s ears quickly tuned out the childish chatter behind her while her brain mapped out dozens of plans, back up plans and contingencies to prevent her patient being discovered, and not for Chrysalis' sake. The more she thought, the more her lips curved upward into a silent, sly smile. Crusader Containment ConscriptionSilence. Stillness. Shadows. No company save for countless reflections staring back at her as she trudged forward. The changeling Queen was very familiar with the dream, lived and relived it many times over. Twisted mirrors, crystals and gems flanked her on either side, each surface bearing one of her many different reflections. She glanced in one direction. A horse with a night black coat and snow white face stared back at her; Hisan the Third, prince of a forgotten Arabic sultanate. A lifetime of feeding off concubines she seduced with his face and whispering in his hypnotized father’s ear flashed in his eyes. It ended with the image of his capitol burning to the ground, another casualty in one of the countless attempts to unite the desert under one banner, before she moved on to the court of their conqueror. Chrysalis looked in another direction. Her eyes locked with a griffon’s, feathers silver and fur chocolate brown, a long, sleek cigarette holder in her grinning beak; Phyllis von Duke, renowned theatre actress and ever enduring griffon sex symbol. Hundreds of crowds of adoring fans to feed off of flashed in her golden eyes, along with seduced and hypnotized bureaucrats and nobles so helpfully spilling all their secrets. Her story came to an end with sneaking out the window of her chateau, a body double left behind with a spilled drink of poisoned wine. Every time Chrysalis shifted her gaze, another met hers and another life played out in the blink of an eye. Kings, queens, statesmen, celebrities, nobles, lawmen, revolutionaries; all with different faces on the surface but with a single identity hidden beneath. She stopped, the tunnel coming to a dead end as it always did. A single, flawless mirror stood before her. Its reflection was blurred; not her own. Not that she recognized. Even the names of the distorted colors eluded her, a gaping hole in her memory. The hazy reflection’s lips began to move, and she felt her own lips move in unison. In her own voice echoed back a hundred fold, in languages modern and dialects only she remembered, she chanted: "And into her own reflection she stared Yearning for one whose reflection she shared And solemnly sweared not to be scared At the prospect of being doubly mared." She raised a hoof and pressed it against her reflection’s. The mirror between them cracked. As the world around them shattered, behind the mirror she caught a glimpse of a single eye staring back at- Her eyes snapped open with a heaving gag, a noxious smell right under her nose. Through her tearing eyes, she saw Zecora pull away a bottle of she-didn’t-even-want-to-know-what and canter away to put it back on her shelf. “Wh-what in the name of Tartarus’ deepest hole was that for?!” she spat. “I apologize for being so abrupt and rude, but patience right now would not be shrewd,” the zebra rhymed before coming back into her guests’ view and sitting down. “You quite frankly slept sounder than a stone, and what’s at my door I can’t handle alone.” “What do you mean?” Chrysalis asked as her coughs died down. “I probably couldn’t fight off a deer in this condition; handle your own blasted fights.” “I don’t need your help in combat; I hardly need a hoof with that,” Zecora snorted. “What I need is beyond my normal role. I need your help with sitting foals.” “Sitting foals… you mean foal sitting?” Chrysalis asked. “What is with you and your unwillingness to speak like a sane mare?” She paused and blinked. “Wait, why are you foal sitting? You’re a crazy hermit in the middle of the most dangerous place on the continent. What irresponsible mother would put their children in your care?” Zecora’s eyes narrowed. “I’m quite responsible, I’ll have you know, and none are harmed in my fire’s glow. Their safety is not my concern; it’s that they’ll somehow make my house burn. You’ve mentioned your swarm of countless kin, and I was hoping your experience could save my skin.” Chrysalis raised an eyebrow. “These kids are that bad?” Zecora mutely nodded. Chrysalis sighed and draped a foreleg over her face. “How many of them?” “Thank you so much for hearing my plea,” she sighed with a small smile. “Today’s trouble comes to us in three. Their search for their marks causes quite the commotion, and today they want to earn theirs in making potions.” “Cutie mark seekers?” she asked, peeking from under her hole-riddled foreleg. “I’ve seen plenty of those over the years. What breed are they?” That gave the zebra pause, her brow furrowing and lips going taut, probably to think up a good rhyme. Chrysalis couldn’t help but chuckle at the almost cute concentration on her face. “Each of these three fillies were born under the breeds of hoof, wing, and horn,” she finally said, her self-assured smile back. “So that either means they’re all alicorns or they’re one of each of the mundane three. I’m going with the latter,” Chrysalis snickered. “That rhyme was awful.” Zecora’s eyes narrowed more and ears flattened, her smile turning upside down. Chrysalis ignored her and said, “Fine, I’ll help out, if only so you aren’t the poor foals’ only guardian. I can’t exactly walk, but I’ll help you keep an eye on them. I just need to get in disguise first; I think I have enough energy to use magic by now. Which to pick…?” She hummed in thought and closed her eyes. A few seconds ticked by before she burst into emerald flames. A moment later the flames were gone, and in the place of the changeling queen was a pegasus mare. She grunted, stretching her white wings and opening her eyes to look over her long black mane. With another spurt of fire, her wings looked mangled and bandaged. “There we go,” she said in a sweet country accent. “Just call me Willow Wisp, and we should be good. If they ask, I was flying nearby when sudden turbulence made me crash into the forest near your house. Don’t worry about details; I have a life story memorized.” Zecora smirked with raised brows and nodded. “I would expect no less from a master of lies.” She turned to the door, but paused and added, “By the way, that’s a beautiful disguise.” Chrysalis scoffed and rolled her eyes with a smaller frown than she felt she should have before laying her head back down. Zecora opened the door and peeked outside. “My patient’s eyes are open wide; you three are free to come inside.” There was a trio of cheers as the three fillies came in. Well, less came in and more stampeded in. And less in and more everywhere. Chrysalis snickered to herself as she watched Zecora scramble to keep track of the colorful little blurs, spluttering out started and then aborted rhyming warnings. “Energetic, even for fillies,” she muttered to herself. She charged her hidden horn, magically grabbing Zecora by the legs like a marionette. The zebra gave her a bewildered look of shock, but the queen mouthed back “trust me.” In a flash, through Chrysalis’ control, Zecora expertly grabbed the pegasus’ tail with her teeth, stomped down on the unicorn’s tail with her hoof, and pinned the earth pony’s under her plot, bringing the blurs to a screeching stop. “Hey!” the three fillies protested in unison. Chrysalis let Zecora’s limbs go with a snicker. “I don’t think it was really kind of you girls to go crazy without saying hello,” she said in her sweet country drawl. “But kids will be kids, right Miss Zecora?” Zecora gave the changeling a hard glare for the briefest of seconds before letting their tails go and saying, “Indeed they will always be, Miss Willow, and these are the spriteliest ones I know.” “Sorry, Zecora,” the unicorn mumbled. “Yeah, got a bit carried away there,” the earth pony said with a nervous giggle. “Wow, what happened to you?” the pegasus asked Chrysalis, ignoring the freshly frazzled zebra. “Oh, just a bit of wind shear, a few broken ribs and wing bones, nothing for foals to worry about,” Chrysalis shrugged off. “I’ve had worse.” “Wind shear?” the unicorn repeated. “That’s when the wind speed and direction changes really drastically in a short distance, usually along cold or hot fronts or when severe weather’s about to hit,” the pegasus explained. “Sometimes it’s so bad it kills ponies!” There was silence as her two friends stared at her. “What?” “It’s just that that was awful… eggheady coming from you, Scoots,” the earth pony said slowly. “No offense.” “I’m a pegasus; I wanna fly someday,” she huffed. “Doesn’t mean I’m an egghead.” “I’m impressed you know so much,” Chrysalis said warmly, bringing a smile to the pegasus filly’s face. “What’s your name?” “I’m Scootaloo!” she answered with a small flutter of her wings. Small, under developed wings. Worrisome. “I’m Sweetie Belle!” the unicorn piped in. “And I’m Apple Bloom,” the earth pony greeted. “We’re the Cutie Mark Crusaders! Pleased to meet ya, Miss Willow.” Chrysalis’ mind flashed through pages of memorized dossiers. She recalled those names from the list of family members for the wielders of the Element of Honesty and Element of Generosity. Suppressing a wicked grin, she said, “Please, call me Wisp; everypony else does. Cutie Mark Crusaders, eh? Is that what those capes are for?” “Darn right!” Scootaloo boasted, the three of them turning to show them off. “They’re kind of covered in leaves because we tried to follow Zecora home in a bush,” Sweetie giggled nervously. “Not one of my best ideas.” “What’s your cutie mark?” Apple Bloom asked. Chrysalis chuckled. “Sorry, but it kind of hurts to move, so can’t really show it off right now, but my special talent is burst flying, like sprinting to you ground pounders. I’m a Canterlot firemare, though my hometown is Dodge Junction, so I do a lot of drills to get in and out of a house’s top floor as fast as I can. Don’t have to worry about wind shear as much when I’m only flying a couple dozen meters in short bursts.” The three fillies let out cute little gasps in child-like awe and crowded around her bed, widening her smile. “Have you saved anypony?” Apple Bloom asked breathlessly. “Oh, maybe three,” she said with a humble hum. “Canterlot’s very strict about fire after it nearly burned down in the Inferno of 1666, though that was obviously way before my time. Not many fires happen up there.” “Still, that is so cool!” Scootaloo squealed. She then paused and cleared her throat, composing herself. “But not as cool as Rainbow Dash; she’s saved way more ponies.” “Scootaloo!” the other two scolded her. “What, it’s true!” she said defensively. While the three were discussing how rude her comment was, Chrysalis giggled as she mulled over how utterly useless that Rainbow Dash stunt flier and her friends were against the invasion. “What’s so funny?” Scootaloo suddenly asked her. “Just that you’re fighting over something so silly,” she fibbed, keeping the heartbreaking truth sealed shut. “It doesn’t matter how many ponies I saved or she saved or he saved; I did my best to do good. That’s what makes a hero, isn’t it?” “Yeah, I guess,” Scootaloo mumbled, looking away in embarrassment as the other two looked at Chrysalis in greater awe and admiration. Chrysalis tore her eyes from the adorable foals to their zebra host. Zecora was looking at the disguised queen with wide, disbelieving eyes, but an infuriatingly amused smirk. Chrysalis’ gaze hardened for the briefest instant before she said, “Now, you gals wanted to learn to make potions from Miss Zecora here, right?” “Oh, right!” Apple Bloom said with a facehoof. “Sorry, Zecora! Can we start helping you make potions now?” Zecora giggled behind her foreleg. “Ready when you and your friends are, Apple Bloom. I’ll get some nose plugs; we’re not exactly mixing perfume.” “What, and no nose plugs for me when you give me that foul medicine, Miss Zecora?” Chrysalis chuckled darkly. “It smelled like something died in old bath water.” Zecora just chuckled back, the three fillies already hopping excitedly at the prospect of finally earning their marks. Chrysalis idly watched as the zebra walked them through the lesson, letting them know that she had her eye on them if they got out of control again. Soon enough her eyes and her smile were in a different place, in many different times, watching millions of hatchlings throughout hundreds of years leaping in joy at the thought of serving the family and their mother for the first time.
BedriddenPain. Pain, pure, primal, simple, was all she could feel as consciousness returned. Everything beneath her exoskeleton hurt, and she could vaguely feel the cracked shards of it shift and stab into her flesh the moment she tried to move. She gritted her teeth and let out a hostile hiss, screwing her eyes shut. “Ah, I see that you are finally waking,” a deep but feminine voice said at the edge of her awareness. “I hope that my aid has helped with your aching.” As the pain made room for the rest of her senses, she could finally make out more pleasant things. She could feel a thick blanket draped across her lower half, though she dared not move her forelegs to drag it across the rest of her. The soft crackling of a fire reached her ears along with the sound of bubbling water, the heat of the flames warming her carapace where the blanket could not. “Who’s there?” she hissed, her eyes still shut from the pain. “Just a hermit who lives in the wood, who tries where she can to do a little good,” the voice responded. There was the sound of something breaking the surface of water, and then the sound of it being poured into a cup. “You are quite lucky I found you this morn; you looked quite beaten, your shell cracked and torn. For a while I thought that I could not keep your death at bay, but it seems you will not perish this day.” She grunted, mentally deciding that this mare was already getting on her nerves. She forced her eyes open and waited for them to make sense of the swirl of color. It soon came into focus and she found herself looking into a pair of dark teal eyes. She hissed again and tried to back away, only for the hiss to devolve into a howl of pain the moment she moved a muscle. “Calm down now, no need to fret; I am many things, but I am no threat,” the owner of the eyes advised. She couldn’t get a good look at her host because her eyes were once again shut tight as agony wracked her body. She panted as she tried to will the pain away when she felt the edge of a wooden cup pressed against her lips. “Here, drink this brew,” her host insisted. “It will help with what you’re going through.” She lifted a foreleg to smack it away, but screamed again and let it fall limp to her side. She growled as deeply as she could before forcing her eyes open to glare. Beside her sat what looked like a pony, yet clearly wasn’t. Instead of a bright coat and mane, the mare before her had light grey fur with darker gray stripes. An equally strange mane style was perched atop her head, looking almost like a trimmed hedge with how straight and tall it was. A pair of golden hoop earrings hung from her ears, and her neck had three equally golden rings around it. A zebra, if she recalled the name. Gaudy jewelry, annoying verbal tick… annoyance turned to hate. She looked down at the wooden cup to see the still bubbling liquid inside wasn’t water at all, but a strange, murky orange ichor that smelled like burnt plastic. She looked up again and glared at her host. “Not feeling up to being poisoned, thanks,” she rasped out. Her host chuckled. “Please, if I had wanted you dead, I would have left you in the forest, where none dare tread,” she explained. “This potion will help your wounds, you know, though I admit it tastes like pure woe. I suggest you drink it to ease your pain, unless you’d like to scream again?” She snarled, looking to her host, the drink, then back again. “Fine,” she spat. She closed her eyes and tried to channel her magic, but she just heard it sputter. “Damnation… can’t concentrate through all this pain!” “Here, allow me.” The zebra raised the cup to her guest’s lips, pouring the potion down her throat. She spluttered and gagged against it, but managed to swallow it all down. Tears came to her eyes as she choked, knocking the cup to the side with her muzzle. “That tasted like sadness and fear of death thrown into a blender!” she coughed, each heave of her lungs sending another wave of pain through her. “Health is rarely ever free,” her host chuckled, rising to all fours and turning towards a nearby doorframe. The injured guest noticed that she was in a bed in a small alcove, with a clear view of a bubbling cauldron in the center of a small house. Instead of stone or brick or even wooden planks, it looked to be one of those houses carved directly into a tree, judging by the rings circling the floor and the lack of seams or nails. Her eyes wandered down to herself. Wherever the pain was at its worst, there were bandages wrapped expertly around the wound, the gauze stained with her sickly green blood. A yellow fur pelt covered in black spots covered her lower half, not a blanket like she originally thought, and she could only assume she was in the zebra’s bed. She stared at her host’s back and plot as she tended to her cauldron before finally demanding, “Why are you helping me? Don’t you know who I am?” “The path of knowledge I have not forsaken. You are a changeling, a queen, if I am not mistaken,” the zebra said, wandering out of her guest’s line of vision. “Though I am sure others would bring you before a judge, against you personally, I have no grudge.” She couldn’t help but laugh, but it turned into a pain hiss. “I’m wanted all over the continent; I’m a villain to everyone I meet. Millions probably want me dead by now. You could easily turn me in or kill me and be a hero. Why aren’t you?” she asked. The zebra returned to her sight and looked at her with a gaze that she couldn’t read, one somewhere between pity and determination. “Because mercy is something everyone in need deserves. My place is not to judge, just to serve.” She scoffed, smirking at her host. “How delightfully naïve of you.” “Call me what you wish,” the zebra said, ducking back out of sight, “but it is I who kept you from being some predator’s dish.” She shifted slightly, the pain slightly duller. “I think I may have preferred that to being trapped with you. Must you always rhyme?” she groaned. “Sorry if it irks you, but it is simply my way; thinking up rhymes helps me think about what I say,” the zebra responded. “A loose tongue and hot head can cause no end of grief, and I came to this place to get some relief.” “About that,” she started with an incredulous raised brow, “where exactly am I? Looks like the middle of the boondocks.” “There are no docks of any kind; we are quite far from the sea,” the zebra explained. “Right now you are in the grip of the Everfree.” “The Everfree Forest,” she repeated, holding back a huff and laying her head back against her pillow. “I suppose there are worse places to end up.” She blinked, a thought striking her. “How far into the forest?” “The closest town is many a mile. I wasn’t kidding when I said I live a hermit’s lifestyle,” her host explained. A wicked grin crossed the changeling’s face, her mind racing with even darker thoughts. “I see…” “But my manners lie forgotten,” the zebra added. “I did not mean for our introductions to be so misbegotten. Zecora is my name; what is yours, fair dame?” “Flattery will get you nowhere,” she snarled. “But I suppose there’s no point in lying, since you already know what I am. My name is Chrysalis. Queen Chrysalis.” “Flattery was not exactly my intent, but you’re allowed to think what you want in any event.” Zecora trotted back into the alcove with a sickeningly warm smile. “But whether or not you think I lied, is there anything else I can provide?” Chrysalis frowned and looked Zecora up and down, looking for the slightest hint of treachery, when she felt the gnawing of hunger at her gut. “It doesn’t exactly matter,” the queen sighed angrily. “Unless I get some food, I’m going to starve to death regardless of any wounds.” “I admit, my knowledge of your kind is quite small,” Zecora confessed, frowning in concern. “Just let me know your kind’s diet and I’ll see if I can find it at all.” Chrysalis chuckled darkly. “Changelings feed on love, hermit. Really any emotion will do, but unless I have some love to feed on, I won’t recover. Trying to survive on anything but love would be like your kind trying to live on produce from a compost heap: disgusting, degrading, and will eventually end in death anyway.” Zecora rubbed her chin and hummed in thought. “I have a measure of love for all living things, but I doubt it’d be a feast of kings. I would be happy to provide, but I’m not sure how even if I tried.” Chrysalis raised a brow and looked the zebra over anew. “You seem awfully willing to be fed upon by the likes of me.” “It is in my nature to give, especially if it is so another may live,” she said, her smile returning. “Just tell me how I can give you what you need, and I assure you I will do such a deed.” “Your naiveté continues to astound me,” Chrysalis muttered. “Just lean in and I’ll do the rest. Focus on something or someone you love; it’ll make it much easier to feed.” Zecora nodded mutely, thankfully, and did as the queen asked, leaning over the bedridden changeling. Chrysalis opened her fanged maw as a green mist started flowing from her host to down her throat. “So sweet,” she purred, closing her eyes and drinking hungrily from the wellspring of love before her. Her eyes snapped open when she suddenly felt the connection severed. The zebra’s eyes were glowing a bright yellow, but only for a split second before returning to normal. The zebra panted and heaved as she said, “That is enough for now, I think; I did not expect to feel so drained from your drink.” “How did you do that?” Chrysalis hissed, raising her head from her pillow as much as she dared without howling. Zecora chuckled as she limped away. “Do not look at me with such scorn; not all magic comes from a unicorn. Just because I am kind does not mean I’m naïve. I always have a trick or two up my sleeve. I could feel you trying to suck me dry, but I’m afraid that I wasn’t about to lay down and die.” Chrysalis’ eyes narrowed as she eased her head back onto the pillow with a huff. “You’re far more useful to me alive than dead right now; I just couldn’t help myself. Your love wasn’t the most filling I’ve had, but it tasted very rich. Who or what were you thinking about?” “My loves and my life are my business alone,” Zecora panted, leaning against her cauldron. “I have not prodded you about your own.” Chrysalis couldn’t help but laugh, though the agony that overtook her chest turned it into a series of pained coughs. “There’s not much to tell,” she said through her hacks. “I love only my children, my hive. I have no room for anything else.” Her eyes shot open. “My subjects! Please tell me you saw some of them out in the forest. There were hundreds with me before I crashed!” “Sorry to say, but I saw none; you were the only one,” Zecora said sadly, trotting out of sight to the sound of clinking bottles. Chrysalis tried to rise from her bed, but collapsed with another scream. “You said that gunk would ease the pain!” she snapped. “You really did poison me, didn’t you?!” “All things take time, and you aren’t exactly in your prime,” Zecora sighed. “Please, do not move about, or your wounds may reopen and make you bleed out.” Chrysalis snarled and gritted her fangs. “I need to get back to my hive. They’re absolutely lost without me; none of them know how to lead or what to do without a leader. They’ll be hunted down and hanged!” “I think you think too lowly of your food. I doubt they would resort to killing your brood.” Zecora returned in sight to pour a few things into her cauldron before starting to stir. “You think too highly of them,” Chrysalis spat. “It’s the nature of prey to fear their predators. They have the numbers and the technology while we’ve had to hide in the shadows for generations until our threat was forgotten. If I don’t recover soon, all my children will be dead.” “And if you fall over dead, the line finally crossed, your herd will truly be forever lost,” Zecora said back over her shoulder. “Please, relax and let yourself rest. While you’re under my roof, you’re my protected guest.” Chrysalis growled, but in the end lay back in the zebra’s bed. “Very well, but you better not be leading me on. If I find even the slightest hint of treachery, you’ll wish I cast you into the gates of Tartarus.” “You’ll soon find your fears to be quite silly. I hold no ill intent towards you, really.” Zecora drank deep from her cauldron, her stance suddenly getting stronger. “We’ll see about that,” Chrysalis muttered as she looked out the window next to her head. It was dark out, as she supposed it always was in the Everfree. Though through the canopy above she could see the soft glow of the moon and stars peek down at her. The panic and adrenaline of her motherly instincts waning, she felt the pain numbing effects of the brew seep in along with a strong urge to sleep. In no shape to fight it, her eyes gently drifted shut.
Different StrokesSunlight trickled through Everfree’s thick canopy the next morning as Chrysalis lay in bed. She assumed it was morning, at least. All she could see was that the sun was up, but she could in no way tell where in the sky it was. The hut was quiet save for her soft breathing, birds chirping outside, and the sounds of other assorted wildlife. Not even the crackle of the fire under the cauldron kept her company. “Blasted birds,” she mumbled under her breath. “Lucky I can’t use magic or I’d have blasted one to pieces to scare the others off by now.” She scowled through the incessant noise as she ruminated on progressively more cruel things to do to the pests when she became well again. Eventually her mind wandered from the minor annoyance of songbirds to the outright fury of the ponies that put her in her condition. “Won’t make the mistake of leaving the bride alive again, even if she is an alicorn,” she muttered to herself. “I should’ve waited until I figured out how to kill an immortal anyway. I’ll have to get rid of her sister in law, too, just for being such a thorn in my plot. I should never have sent her into the Canterlot mines with the bride; burning her to a crisp on the spot would have been worth the risk of someone finding the remains. When I return, that’ll be too quick, though.” She cackled softly. “Ohoh, far too quick. Maybe I’ll dress up her brother in full battle gear and suck every last drop of love out of him; watch as the hate-filled husk that’s left kills her. Yes, that sounds good… though, how in the name of Tartarus’ flaming pits am I going to harvest this country now that-” Her vengeful musings came to a grinding halt when she heard the latch on the front door come undone. The hinges creaked and hooves met wood, and within seconds in came Zecora to her line of sight, a hooded robe draped across her back. “Where have you been?” Chrysalis demanded, lifting her head from her pillow ever so slightly. “I woke up hours ago to find you gone, and I think your rancid painkiller has worn off.” “I apologize for being a little slow; I did not expect you to miss me so,” Zecora chuckled. Chrysalis huffed. “I miss you like a booster shot to the plot; painful, embarrassing, but ultimately necessary for my health.” Zecora rolled her eyes as she hung up her cloak, revealing saddlebags underneath. “There were some things I needed in town, so I went there to track them down. I will have your medicine mixed in a bit, but I haven’t even had the fire lit.” The changeling chuckled darkly as her zebra host took off her saddlebags and rustled through them. “No doubt everyone’s talking about what I did, hm?” “The news has set many tongues afire, and it seems you and yours have earned a lot of ire,” Zecora said, pulling out a few jars and sacks from her bags. “There is much hate for you and your hive, though most just seem glad the princesses are alive.” Chrysalis scoffed. “Naturally. Wouldn’t want their precious princesses coming to any harm, now would they? Never mind all the civilians that were there; as long as a fat alicorn plot sits on the throne, all is right with the world.” “From what I’ve heard, Celestia is no mere sitter. Though from what I’m hearing, you’re quite bitter.” Zecora leaned down and blew on the wood under the cauldron, a fire suddenly springing to life. “Ponies frankly disgust me,” Chrysalis said with a guttural snarl, as if thinking about it collected bile in her throat. “They’re herd animals that cling to an arbitrary social ladder based on gold and cloth and hearsay. All their talk of love and peace and tolerance are simple pretentions I can take away just by opening my jaws.” “Believe that if you will and drown your heart in spite,” Zecora started, shaking a few samples of her purchases into the cauldron, “but a wolf can take its prey’s blood with a simple bite.” Chrysalis raised an eyebrow at her host. “And what exactly is that supposed to mean, oh wise hermit?” she asked dryly. “It means that just because something can be lost, it does not mean its absence lacks a heavy cost. You speak as if love is some mask or lie, but any world worth living in needs no small supply.” Zecora picked up her stirring staff and did just that, the brew inside her cauldron bubbling even though Chrysalis couldn’t recall the zebra ever filling it with water. Chrysalis set aside her questions about how Zecora was doing what she was doing and huffed. “You haven’t seen someone until they get sucked dry by a changeling. Love is a keystone in a very broad arch. Take it away, and down comes their loyalty, their compassion, their self esteem, and their trust. Eventually all that’s left is a hateful, treacherous, cruel, suicidal, paranoid husk of a creature. The very thing that defines goodness and holds civilization together can come undone as easily as any knot. It’s pathetically fragile at best.” “As is any great work of art, but just because it is weak does not mean you should tear it apart,” Zecora said evenly. Chrysalis’ brow furrowed and her lips curled into a frown. “Don’t preach to me, hermit. It isn’t a matter of should. It’s a matter of necessity. Without gorging on love every now and then, we die.” She stopped and shook her head with a scoff. “Though don’t get me wrong; I have no qualms about it. Robbing these pathetic creatures of their petty, monotonous lives to feed my children and I is almost too good for them.” Zecora hummed in thought as she stirred, not saying a word. “Nothing to say to that, do you?” Chrysalis chuckled. “No witty rhymes or fortune cookie wisdom?” “I just wonder if, dear queen, there were a way to get love by other means,” Zecora mused, taking her stirring staff out, dripping with orange ichor. “If some arrangement could be made, if on some deal you could decide, so that you and yours would no longer have to skulk, hunt, and hide.” She trotted out of sight again. “Nobody would ever give love willingly to a changeling, save for a fool like yourself,” Chrysalis snarled, looking up at the ceiling. “We’re monsters that haunt the minds of grooms and brides alike, hoping to their demi-god princess that the pony they’re marrying isn’t one of us, with ridiculous rituals and methods to make sure they aren’t.” Chrysalis scoffed while Zecora came back with her wooden cup, dipping it into her cauldron. “A long time ago there were even changeling hunts, though often they resulted in some poor colt or mare getting lynched or burned at the stake for no reason. Even if I wanted my children to freely associate with such petty, ignorant beasts, it would never work.” “You have obviously given this possibility much thought,” Zecora observed, trotting over with the smell of burnt plastic in the air. “One would think that you’ve considered acceptance being sought.” Chrysalis glared at the zebra, ignoring the offered medicine. “You’re prying too much into the thoughts and life of a mare that could easily destroy you when she recovers. Why do you even care, anyway? Any one of my sons or daughters would have happily sucked you dry if we’d succeeded in our coup. Your love is so rich that I may have kept you to myself to snack on. Healing me won’t earn you any favors; you’re still my prey.” Zecora stayed silent, motioning towards the changeling’s medicine. With a low growl, Chrysalis relented and put her lips to the edge of the cup, the zebra tilting it up for her to drink. “I expect nothing in return or any reward,” Zecora said softly as Chrysalis choked the brew down, “nor do I expect mercy from you and your horde. My charity comes from the depths of my heart, even if others would not think my actions smart.” Chrysalis nudged the cup aside after it had been drained, gagging at the rancid taste. “If I didn’t already feel like vomiting from that foul potion, I certainly do now from that saccharine nonsense.” “Nonsense or not, it is how I feel.” Zecora turned around and cantered away out of sight once more. “As long as I have done good I don’t care if I’m your meal.” Chrysalis raised an eyebrow. “Some would consider that suicidal.” “That would not be the first time that has been said. After all, I live in the forest the whole nation dreads,” Zecora chuckled darkly as she trotted back into view, sitting in the doorway to the bedroom’s alcove. “This place is where darkness and evil is fraught, so really, who is to say that I am not?” Chrysalis looked the zebra over before looking out the window with a sigh. “The more and more I talk to you, the more and more you vex me, hermit.” “I tend to have that effect, I’m told, but you confuse me too, if I may be so bold. Your love for your children is quite clear, yet you harm all others with great cheer,” Zecora said. “I don’t understand how someone with such a trait can also harbor so much bile and hate.” “Keep wondering and get used to disappointment,” the queen scoffed as a crow flew by the window. “I’ve already told you far too much already. I don’t even know why I’m talking to you so much in the first place.” Zecora chuckled. “How long has it been since you had a candid conversation with someone that wasn’t one of your relations?” Chrysalis’ ears drooped slightly and her eyes narrowed. “I can’t remember; decades at least. This is the first time I’ve even been out of disguise in a long, long time.” She felt the zebra’s nose nudge her side, and she turned her head to face her again. A sad, pitying smile was on Zecora’s face. “Then perhaps since you don't talk much to others, you should begin, and I mean to ponies who are not one of your disguised kin.” Chrysalis let out a low hiss before turning back to the window. “Do not presume to know what’s good for me, hermit. I have lived hundreds of your lifetimes and will live hundreds more. My wants and needs are beyond your understanding.” “I do not think they’re that bizarre; after all, I’ve understood you thus far,” Zecora said cheekily. “Keep pushing it and you’ll find out how hard it is to understand anything with your brains outside your head,” Chrysalis snarled. “Very well, I will leave you be; besides, the potion should kick in shortly,” Zecora said, her hoofsteps getting farther away. “I have some herbs I must gather from the wood. Please, let yourself rest, it will do you some good.” Chrysalis just gave a noncommittal growl in return before the door opened and closed again, leaving her alone once more. The scant sunlight that could pierce the veil of leaves shined down on her as her eyelids grew heavier. Unable to fight it anymore, she let them close, and sleep took her once more.
Crusader ComplicationsIn truth, little is known about changelings. Since her Royal Highness outlawed the practice of local changeling hunts due to possible innocents getting unjustly hanged, changeling sightings have become rarer over the centuries. The lack of paleontological evidence has lead most scholars to believe that changelings never truly lived in Equestria, and sightings were just the result of feverish paranoia due to the rumors of their threat across the eastern sea… …All that is known about changelings comes from ancient records found in what recently became the Griffon Confederacy and from the horses of Arabia. Even then, changelings were extremely elusive and few concrete answers can be found. It’s hard to tell fact from folktale, as changelings feature prominently as monsters and villains in many fables across the world. Common themes across all variations of those stories is the changeling’s modus operandi of taking the place of a loved one and somehow feeding off them like a parasite. What becomes of the creature they replaced is different depending on the version, from murder to being spirited away to the changeling’s hive. The loved one being replaced also varies depending on cultural fears. Sometimes it is a spouse, sometimes a sibling, and in many versions a child… …Another common character in these tales is the changeling queen, though her name and role is never the same from version to version. In some versions, particularly from southern Arabia, she’s a seductress who hides among a ruler’s lovers and eventually draws him under her spell, bringing his country to ruin. Another from the northwestern Griffon Confederacy portrays her as a bloodthirsty conqueror and usurper, though it should be noted ancient griffon politics meant that the fact the Queen was a female ruler is what made her a villain, not her tactics. A full index of the various versions can be found in… …The most infamous disasters attributed to changelings are the periodic mass disappearances. Every case is essentially the same: changeling sightings or rumors of loved ones acting strangely would climb in an area, be it a village, a city, or an entire country. Communications would suddenly cease, and when outsiders would eventually come to investigate, they would only find empty streets and a few violent, death-seeking survivors left… …Though some changeling fossils and other remains have been recovered, a live specimen has not been captured since antiquity. Aside from sketches of a dissected changeling by the griffon natural philosopher Sir Leopold VI, changeling anatomy is virtually unknown to modern science. Zecora slammed the book shut and sighed. “An ancient book penned that’s yet another dead end.” She slipped it back on the shelf and started skimming the titles once more. “Sorry, Zecora, that’s the last book I have that would have what you’re looking for,” Twilight said behind her. “I’ve looked over these books myself since the wedding; information on changelings is scarce at best.” “Do not fret and apologize, Twilight; better yet, do neither. If I recall, pony scholars have not studied dragons much either,” Zecora assured, turning around and putting a hoof on Twilight’s shoulders. Twilight smiled a bit and sighed herself. “I admit, the past greats of science and discovery weren’t exactly the bravest. The fact we have so little information on the greatest threats to our kind and country is more than a bit alarming.” Zecora chuckled and nuzzled Twilight encouragingly. “I have traveled many places, and in all I have found this true: many are ruled by fear, so real discovery is up to mares like you.” Twilight’s cheeks turned red, her smile growing. “Thanks, Zecora. And good luck on that potion! With the changeling threat back in the public eye, a potion that would turn a changeling back into their true form would do wonders to keep everypony safe and help them feel safe.” Zecora cringed inwardly at her own lie as she got up to leave. “I will let you know what I come up with, my dear friend, though I make no guarantees there’s anything to be found in the end.” Twilight chuckled as she escorted her friend to the door. “If anypony in Equestria can do it, Zecora, it’s you. You just need to have faith in yourself.” She pulled the door open for Zecora and waved as she walked through. “Hope to see you again soon!” Zecora mutely waved back as she cantered back into the dirt streets of Ponyville. The summer sun beat down on her head with a flaming cudgel, so she pulled the hood of her cloak back over her head. As she cantered along the morning streets, the locals gave her a few warm greetings and earned a warm smile back, while visitors gave her ogling stares and got a warm smile and a nod anyway. A few ponies stopped her to chat, mostly about special orders for potions. Derpy needed more Fleet Flight Philter to help with her steering; Yankee Doodle asked how the Sweet Soul Potion for his temper was coming along; Cheerilee asked for something to help her stay up to grade papers, so the zebra promised to brew up some Midnight Oil Draft; and Cloud Kicker asked for the same thing for a very different kind of… endurance. After a while, though, Zecora started to notice the sound of rustling leaves behind her as she walked. After a few moments of intense listening, she stopped dead in her tracks and snapped her head over her shoulder. The street was empty save for a few bushes and the other ponies milling about as they started their day. Zecora swept the area with her eyes before turning her head forward again and continuing her trek home. A small smirk came to her lips and her eyes rolled when she heard the rustling start up again along with her hoofsteps. Soon she was at the edge of town, the rustling following her all the way. She crossed the bridge across the small creek that lead to the Everfree Forest. With a sly smile, she stopped again and about-faced to see a bush sitting in the middle of the bridge. “Sweetie, Apple Bloom, Scootaloo; come out, I know that it’s you,” she snickered. A trio of disappointed groans came from the bush before the three fillies climbed out, their Cutie Mark Crusader capes on and covered in leaves. “Told you it wouldn’t work,” Scootaloo scoffed. “Hey, you were the one too scared to ask,” Apple Bloom giggled. “I was not!” Scootaloo huffed. “Besides, the bush thing was Sweetie’s dumb idea.” “It works all the time on TV,” Sweetie grumbled, tracing shapes in the bridge with the edge of her hoof. “Sneaking up on me is no easy task,” Zecora chuckled. “Now, please, what did you want to ask?” “We wanted to see if we could help with your potion making!” Apple Bloom answered with a big grin. “We’ve tried basically everything in town, but the girls here have never been to your place.” Zecora’s smile turned into a skeptical frown, an eyebrow rising. “Apple Bloom, surely you remember the crisis so dire when you decided to steal and eat the flower Heart’s Desire? If in three of you I place my trust, I’m afraid you’ll make my house combust.” Apple Bloom chuckled nervously. “Well, yeah, but I learned my lesson there. No more stealin’, especially things I don’t really understand.” “What does combust mean?” Scootaloo asked. “Explode,” Sweetie said. “Oh… cool!” Scootaloo grinned wide, but it was quickly dashed when she saw the other two Crusaders glaring at her. “I mean, um… we would never do that! On purpose.” Zecora’s other brow raised, her eyes sweeping across each of the trio and her hesitance clear. “C’mon, please Zecora?” Apple Bloom asked. “You know how good I behave at your place! Well, yeah, except that one time, but still, I’ll keep the other girls in line!” “Yeah, we’ll be good,” Scootaloo insisted, shifting excitedly on her hooves. “Please?” Sweetie Belle added, complete with bottom lip wibble. Zecora looked between each of the Crusaders again before letting out a sigh. “Very well, you’ve talked me into submission, but you can only follow me home on one condition.” “Anything!” the three squeed in unison. Zecora chuckled again in spite of herself. “The problem is that I have a patient under my care, one who was caught and injured in the forest’s snare.” “Why haven’t you taken her to the hospital?” Sweetie gasped. “Yeah, the Heart family would fix her right up!” Scootaloo added. Zecora’s brain scrambled for a second to think of an excuse, but only a second. “The hospital would stick her with a bill, while I will heal her just in good will.” “I guess that makes sense,” Sweetie admitted. “All I ask is that you don’t follow me inside until I make sure my patient’s eyes are open wide,” Zecora said as she turned around, leading the three fillies deeper into the forest. “Huh?” Scootaloo blurted behind her. “Awake, Scoots; she means awake,” Apple Bloom translated. “How do you know that?” Scootaloo asked back. “You get used to Zecora speak after a while, I guess,” Apple Bloom chuckled. Zecora’s ears quickly tuned out the childish chatter behind her while her brain mapped out dozens of plans, back up plans and contingencies to prevent her patient being discovered, and not for Chrysalis' sake. The more she thought, the more her lips curved upward into a silent, sly smile.
Crusader Containment ConscriptionSilence. Stillness. Shadows. No company save for countless reflections staring back at her as she trudged forward. The changeling Queen was very familiar with the dream, lived and relived it many times over. Twisted mirrors, crystals and gems flanked her on either side, each surface bearing one of her many different reflections. She glanced in one direction. A horse with a night black coat and snow white face stared back at her; Hisan the Third, prince of a forgotten Arabic sultanate. A lifetime of feeding off concubines she seduced with his face and whispering in his hypnotized father’s ear flashed in his eyes. It ended with the image of his capitol burning to the ground, another casualty in one of the countless attempts to unite the desert under one banner, before she moved on to the court of their conqueror. Chrysalis looked in another direction. Her eyes locked with a griffon’s, feathers silver and fur chocolate brown, a long, sleek cigarette holder in her grinning beak; Phyllis von Duke, renowned theatre actress and ever enduring griffon sex symbol. Hundreds of crowds of adoring fans to feed off of flashed in her golden eyes, along with seduced and hypnotized bureaucrats and nobles so helpfully spilling all their secrets. Her story came to an end with sneaking out the window of her chateau, a body double left behind with a spilled drink of poisoned wine. Every time Chrysalis shifted her gaze, another met hers and another life played out in the blink of an eye. Kings, queens, statesmen, celebrities, nobles, lawmen, revolutionaries; all with different faces on the surface but with a single identity hidden beneath. She stopped, the tunnel coming to a dead end as it always did. A single, flawless mirror stood before her. Its reflection was blurred; not her own. Not that she recognized. Even the names of the distorted colors eluded her, a gaping hole in her memory. The hazy reflection’s lips began to move, and she felt her own lips move in unison. In her own voice echoed back a hundred fold, in languages modern and dialects only she remembered, she chanted: "And into her own reflection she stared Yearning for one whose reflection she shared And solemnly sweared not to be scared At the prospect of being doubly mared." She raised a hoof and pressed it against her reflection’s. The mirror between them cracked. As the world around them shattered, behind the mirror she caught a glimpse of a single eye staring back at- Her eyes snapped open with a heaving gag, a noxious smell right under her nose. Through her tearing eyes, she saw Zecora pull away a bottle of she-didn’t-even-want-to-know-what and canter away to put it back on her shelf. “Wh-what in the name of Tartarus’ deepest hole was that for?!” she spat. “I apologize for being so abrupt and rude, but patience right now would not be shrewd,” the zebra rhymed before coming back into her guests’ view and sitting down. “You quite frankly slept sounder than a stone, and what’s at my door I can’t handle alone.” “What do you mean?” Chrysalis asked as her coughs died down. “I probably couldn’t fight off a deer in this condition; handle your own blasted fights.” “I don’t need your help in combat; I hardly need a hoof with that,” Zecora snorted. “What I need is beyond my normal role. I need your help with sitting foals.” “Sitting foals… you mean foal sitting?” Chrysalis asked. “What is with you and your unwillingness to speak like a sane mare?” She paused and blinked. “Wait, why are you foal sitting? You’re a crazy hermit in the middle of the most dangerous place on the continent. What irresponsible mother would put their children in your care?” Zecora’s eyes narrowed. “I’m quite responsible, I’ll have you know, and none are harmed in my fire’s glow. Their safety is not my concern; it’s that they’ll somehow make my house burn. You’ve mentioned your swarm of countless kin, and I was hoping your experience could save my skin.” Chrysalis raised an eyebrow. “These kids are that bad?” Zecora mutely nodded. Chrysalis sighed and draped a foreleg over her face. “How many of them?” “Thank you so much for hearing my plea,” she sighed with a small smile. “Today’s trouble comes to us in three. Their search for their marks causes quite the commotion, and today they want to earn theirs in making potions.” “Cutie mark seekers?” she asked, peeking from under her hole-riddled foreleg. “I’ve seen plenty of those over the years. What breed are they?” That gave the zebra pause, her brow furrowing and lips going taut, probably to think up a good rhyme. Chrysalis couldn’t help but chuckle at the almost cute concentration on her face. “Each of these three fillies were born under the breeds of hoof, wing, and horn,” she finally said, her self-assured smile back. “So that either means they’re all alicorns or they’re one of each of the mundane three. I’m going with the latter,” Chrysalis snickered. “That rhyme was awful.” Zecora’s eyes narrowed more and ears flattened, her smile turning upside down. Chrysalis ignored her and said, “Fine, I’ll help out, if only so you aren’t the poor foals’ only guardian. I can’t exactly walk, but I’ll help you keep an eye on them. I just need to get in disguise first; I think I have enough energy to use magic by now. Which to pick…?” She hummed in thought and closed her eyes. A few seconds ticked by before she burst into emerald flames. A moment later the flames were gone, and in the place of the changeling queen was a pegasus mare. She grunted, stretching her white wings and opening her eyes to look over her long black mane. With another spurt of fire, her wings looked mangled and bandaged. “There we go,” she said in a sweet country accent. “Just call me Willow Wisp, and we should be good. If they ask, I was flying nearby when sudden turbulence made me crash into the forest near your house. Don’t worry about details; I have a life story memorized.” Zecora smirked with raised brows and nodded. “I would expect no less from a master of lies.” She turned to the door, but paused and added, “By the way, that’s a beautiful disguise.” Chrysalis scoffed and rolled her eyes with a smaller frown than she felt she should have before laying her head back down. Zecora opened the door and peeked outside. “My patient’s eyes are open wide; you three are free to come inside.” There was a trio of cheers as the three fillies came in. Well, less came in and more stampeded in. And less in and more everywhere. Chrysalis snickered to herself as she watched Zecora scramble to keep track of the colorful little blurs, spluttering out started and then aborted rhyming warnings. “Energetic, even for fillies,” she muttered to herself. She charged her hidden horn, magically grabbing Zecora by the legs like a marionette. The zebra gave her a bewildered look of shock, but the queen mouthed back “trust me.” In a flash, through Chrysalis’ control, Zecora expertly grabbed the pegasus’ tail with her teeth, stomped down on the unicorn’s tail with her hoof, and pinned the earth pony’s under her plot, bringing the blurs to a screeching stop. “Hey!” the three fillies protested in unison. Chrysalis let Zecora’s limbs go with a snicker. “I don’t think it was really kind of you girls to go crazy without saying hello,” she said in her sweet country drawl. “But kids will be kids, right Miss Zecora?” Zecora gave the changeling a hard glare for the briefest of seconds before letting their tails go and saying, “Indeed they will always be, Miss Willow, and these are the spriteliest ones I know.” “Sorry, Zecora,” the unicorn mumbled. “Yeah, got a bit carried away there,” the earth pony said with a nervous giggle. “Wow, what happened to you?” the pegasus asked Chrysalis, ignoring the freshly frazzled zebra. “Oh, just a bit of wind shear, a few broken ribs and wing bones, nothing for foals to worry about,” Chrysalis shrugged off. “I’ve had worse.” “Wind shear?” the unicorn repeated. “That’s when the wind speed and direction changes really drastically in a short distance, usually along cold or hot fronts or when severe weather’s about to hit,” the pegasus explained. “Sometimes it’s so bad it kills ponies!” There was silence as her two friends stared at her. “What?” “It’s just that that was awful… eggheady coming from you, Scoots,” the earth pony said slowly. “No offense.” “I’m a pegasus; I wanna fly someday,” she huffed. “Doesn’t mean I’m an egghead.” “I’m impressed you know so much,” Chrysalis said warmly, bringing a smile to the pegasus filly’s face. “What’s your name?” “I’m Scootaloo!” she answered with a small flutter of her wings. Small, under developed wings. Worrisome. “I’m Sweetie Belle!” the unicorn piped in. “And I’m Apple Bloom,” the earth pony greeted. “We’re the Cutie Mark Crusaders! Pleased to meet ya, Miss Willow.” Chrysalis’ mind flashed through pages of memorized dossiers. She recalled those names from the list of family members for the wielders of the Element of Honesty and Element of Generosity. Suppressing a wicked grin, she said, “Please, call me Wisp; everypony else does. Cutie Mark Crusaders, eh? Is that what those capes are for?” “Darn right!” Scootaloo boasted, the three of them turning to show them off. “They’re kind of covered in leaves because we tried to follow Zecora home in a bush,” Sweetie giggled nervously. “Not one of my best ideas.” “What’s your cutie mark?” Apple Bloom asked. Chrysalis chuckled. “Sorry, but it kind of hurts to move, so can’t really show it off right now, but my special talent is burst flying, like sprinting to you ground pounders. I’m a Canterlot firemare, though my hometown is Dodge Junction, so I do a lot of drills to get in and out of a house’s top floor as fast as I can. Don’t have to worry about wind shear as much when I’m only flying a couple dozen meters in short bursts.” The three fillies let out cute little gasps in child-like awe and crowded around her bed, widening her smile. “Have you saved anypony?” Apple Bloom asked breathlessly. “Oh, maybe three,” she said with a humble hum. “Canterlot’s very strict about fire after it nearly burned down in the Inferno of 1666, though that was obviously way before my time. Not many fires happen up there.” “Still, that is so cool!” Scootaloo squealed. She then paused and cleared her throat, composing herself. “But not as cool as Rainbow Dash; she’s saved way more ponies.” “Scootaloo!” the other two scolded her. “What, it’s true!” she said defensively. While the three were discussing how rude her comment was, Chrysalis giggled as she mulled over how utterly useless that Rainbow Dash stunt flier and her friends were against the invasion. “What’s so funny?” Scootaloo suddenly asked her. “Just that you’re fighting over something so silly,” she fibbed, keeping the heartbreaking truth sealed shut. “It doesn’t matter how many ponies I saved or she saved or he saved; I did my best to do good. That’s what makes a hero, isn’t it?” “Yeah, I guess,” Scootaloo mumbled, looking away in embarrassment as the other two looked at Chrysalis in greater awe and admiration. Chrysalis tore her eyes from the adorable foals to their zebra host. Zecora was looking at the disguised queen with wide, disbelieving eyes, but an infuriatingly amused smirk. Chrysalis’ gaze hardened for the briefest instant before she said, “Now, you gals wanted to learn to make potions from Miss Zecora here, right?” “Oh, right!” Apple Bloom said with a facehoof. “Sorry, Zecora! Can we start helping you make potions now?” Zecora giggled behind her foreleg. “Ready when you and your friends are, Apple Bloom. I’ll get some nose plugs; we’re not exactly mixing perfume.” “What, and no nose plugs for me when you give me that foul medicine, Miss Zecora?” Chrysalis chuckled darkly. “It smelled like something died in old bath water.” Zecora just chuckled back, the three fillies already hopping excitedly at the prospect of finally earning their marks. Chrysalis idly watched as the zebra walked them through the lesson, letting them know that she had her eye on them if they got out of control again. Soon enough her eyes and her smile were in a different place, in many different times, watching millions of hatchlings throughout hundreds of years leaping in joy at the thought of serving the family and their mother for the first time.
