“Ugh, I don’t see anything,” the Changeling queen berated, her frustration peaking. She looked again, scanning slowly over the rotten, orange topped oaks that wilted like giant vases of flowers with no light. She wasn’t certain what she was looking for, but she knew she didn’t see it. Somewhere deep down under her veins, between organs, was the writhing knot, still tugging at her innards. She wanted to be rid of this plague, this mental disease that froze her legs and poisoned her mind. She hadn’t been able to sleep and gorged excessively on food, and it had began to show in the redness of her eyes and the roundness of her haunches.
“This is absurd,” she scoffed, “What does find myself supposed to mean?” She looked out over the murky pond. “Rest and rejuvenate, find yourself in the nature around you, then return to your kingdom,” she repeated aloud. She processed what it could possibly have meant, but drew up blanks. “ You send me to a cabin in the pony-end of nowhere with nothing but disgusting berries and sharp sawgrass to eat? All I have achieved so far is superior annoyance. What could you possibly be trying to achieve you old crow!”
She believed the mystic was wrong, but she wasn’t foolish. She knew they did everything for a reason, but none of it seemed to point anywhere but to antagonize she, Changeling queen. She re-settled herself on the lumpy cushion she accommodated with a grumble, but it was in vain as she just found a more uncomfortable position. She couldn’t take it, she decided, she wouldn’t. She sneered at her predicament. It was ridiculous that she, the queen of the changelings, was wasting her time trying to “discover” herself in the middle of the swamps. She cursed Cadence under her breath for putting her in this position. She stood up with fervor. “What is this? I am the queen of the Changelings! I will not succumb to such petty conflicts. I nearly had Canterlot! I-”
She stopped mid-sentence as the memories of Canterlot and her near victory washed up onto her conscious. Crushing defeat, humiliation, sadness, it all came back to her and tugged her heart back into the mud of her depression, her passionate fury replaced with sullenness. Without another word, she folded back down onto the uncomfortable cushion, accepting its lumpiness as something beyond her power to change, like many things.
She gazed through the patio floor boards for several seconds before bringing her head up again. She looked out one more time in a last ditch effort to find something, if anything, in the tangles of brambles and pools of mud that’d cure her of her emotional illness. But no matter how sincere her effort was, it all came back just as she saw it: trees, mud, vines. The spark was gone, the energy and vitality left behind in the walls of Canterlot.
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Evening slugged along, and for the fourth night in a row, Chrysalis was left sipping wine (the only luxury she thought to bring) on the lumpy pillow by a hearth in the main room. The rotten oak logs in the hearth’s pit produced a putrid, damp stench as they burned and repelled her nose, but its warmth was too precious to give up in the poorly insulated cabin, so she bared through it and tried to ignore the smell until her nose became used to it.
She read through a large red book, horribly worn all over. It was her journal, essentially, from as far back as when she was just a child. She read over entries from when she was little to pass the time, as she did every night, reaping the nostalgia the stories bared.
Her stomach growled like a beast. But as she thought of more swamp berries and saw grass for dinner, she thought to postpone dinner longer. However, she had already skipped lunch and her hunger now grew to be unignorable. The pit in her stomach deepened as she thought about the food she used to enjoy: fruit, grain, pastries, meat, oh yes the meat. She dreamed of the day she could eat normal food again.
She resisted for a few more moments, overturning the thought every time it came by just thinking about the berries, until it was too unbearable. She stood and made for the kitchen, scouring every cabinet and checking every dark corner for some overlooked gem, the sewage-green berries peeking at her from a large burlap sack against the lower cabinets all the while. She closed the last cabinet door and slunk down against the lower drawers in an exasperated sigh. Her time here did fix something, she would not gorge herself on those berries if her life depended on it. She stared down the sack, her thoughts jumping between the berry’s foul juices seemingly extracted from the murky swamp waters and the ever-widening gap between her lungs and her pelvis. Her crooked horn tapped against the counter edge as she deliberated.
At last, she stood with a face of contempt as the stove lit in a blink of green and a hoof-full of berries floated out of the dreaded sack and into a wooden bowl. Only three more nights after this and she could return, prove that she did nothing but starve, and do away with the mystics all together. She also gave a silent promise above that she’d eat everything in moderation, as long as it meant she could eat normal food again.
She had narrowed down the night before that the best way to prepare the berries were to squeeze them, then dry them into raisins to make them at least bearable. Perhaps if she were to fry the sawgrass they would lose their bitter-sour taste, she thought. She wanted to skip the Saw grass this night, but her stomach said otherwise once again. it seemed too tempting that’d it might taste bearable to avoid as well. She had no coat to go outside with, so she grabbed the wool blanket that came with the lodge and headed for the door, she slept without it anyway.
As the door opened, a rush of chilled air blew past her and nipped at her ears. The sky was a faint blue to the west, while sunken oaks ahead were just black silhouettes. She stepped out over the cold, wet grass and began picking by the largest blades by the pond. The thoughts and memories that began to crawl their way into her thoughts were blocked as she set on giving up trying to think and reconcile, and instead settled herself into a comfortable mindless haze of standing in the dark, with her green hair whipping in the air, picking the blades of saw grass one by one into an accumulated bundle by her side.
When she thought she had enough, she turned around and walked back to the front door, lit by a hanging lamp that wobbled in the breeze. She was nearly on the doorstep before she noticed there was something already there. A small wicker picnic basket of no particular visual significance laid at the base of the door. Had that been there when she left? or was it left as she wasn’t looking? she wondered. She didn’t look down before, so it was possible it had been there since the morning.
Then thought of what could be inside occurred to her. It was a picnic basket, which ponies put food inside of. She didn’t think a second more before snatching it up and hastily trotting out of the cold and back to the kitchen by the stove light. She salivated as the memories of delectable sandwiches, salads, and the like have come from such a basket. Perhaps her luck had turned around.
She opened the lid and her stomach twisted as she found no sandwiches, salads, or any of the like. She flipped open both sides to see nothing, save a small, oddly colored pillow. It was splotched with white and black with a few brown splotches at the edge. It was a hideous pillow. She rubbed her hoof across the its surface in a stupor of disbelief. She believes she finds something bearable to eat in the pit of tartarus she made vacancy, and it was just an illusion. It’s pleasant softness did nothing to reconcile.
A tag dangled in her face she didn’t spot before. It hung from the handle with something written on it. She brought it to her eyes with a glow of green and read the single sentence.
The remedy to the downtrodden soul.
It could only of come from the mystic, she guessed, it was the sort of vague guidance she would use. A special place in her mind made it self vacant for her contempt of the mystic and her deplorable sort of gag gift. But as she thought of foul things happening to the mystic, a white and black lump rose from the pillow and a pair of black beads peeled open on it. She stared at the thing, her mouth dangling unhinged. Her mind flipped upside down as she tried to comprehend what she was looking at when a second lump in the pillow lifted and peeled two more black beads. She stood dumbfounded until one lump opened a pink mouth and let out a sweet mew. Her eyes widened as it clicked and her heart shot up into its proper place between her lungs, ripping a grin across her face.
“Meat!” She exclaimed with a laugh, “oh glorious, wonderful, magnificent, feline meat!” She lifted it up to show the gods her fortune. “I take back all I have said against the mystic, she is a good friend!” She spun around with the basket in a magical tote, quickly transitioning into a waltz that she hummed the tune too, erupting into giggles during its entirety.
A green aura levitated one kitten from the basket with a pure black coat. “But how did she come across such little rarities such as yourself?” she asked.
The kitten stared back at her in silence.
“Oh, who cares? A gift is a gift!” She set the kitten back and reached to the countertop to shove the bowl of berries carelessly across the floor, hearing it thump and roll with delight. She laid the basket in open space and peered inside. “Now, how many of you are there?” She queried, levitating each kitten out behind the other and setting them alongside each other, finding four in total.
One was completely black and shifted its gaze gradually across the interior of the cottage with a hunger for awareness. The next was a white, black, and light orange calico that immediately began to waddle off across the counter in search of something only it knew. Another was a tuxedo black and white, and pounced the black kitten, who ignored his agitation with disinterest. The last was bleach white and mewed at her with an advanced level of sweetness and seemingly intentionally wide, innocent eyes.
Chrysalis tilted her head with a smirk, a bit of warmth flashing in her chest for just a moment. “It is almost a shame that you creatures are quite the treat.” The white kitten tilted its own head in response. “But what can you do,” the queen shrugged, and with that, fashioned a large kitchen knife from a drawer.
“Now, If I’m not mistaken, skinning is the first step to take when preparing meat.” She moved a cutting board from across the countertop, to her, while carefully setting the kitten on it. “But how do I start?” She puzzled, imagining dotted lines across different regions of its body. The kitten, uninterested in being on the board, started off. “Stay still little one.” She commanded, freezing its paws in place.
“Should I cut off the head first?” pointed the blade just above its neck as the kitten tugged at its bonds. She kept it there, waiting for any sign of familiarity. “Or maybe I should cut off the legs first. “she laid the blade against each limb, taking note of the feeling.
She struggled to recall how the hunters showed her when she was little. The first time she accompanied a group of hunters, it was a motley crew of four or five. They caught a squirrel and laid it out on a table. She watched them as they took a hunting knife and... “Oh of course, I start below the belly,” she pointed the knife, “and cut up through the sternum. Yes, now I remember,” She shook the knife by her head in an eureka moment. She slid her tongue along the edge of her lips. Before she would know it, there would be meat sizzling in the pan, and it would fill the cabin with the scent of cooked meat.
The kitten jolted upward by its green envelope and flipped over unceremoniously onto its back, limbs splayed outward. It looked about with a face of curiosity and mewed at its confinement, oblivious to Chrysalis’ words and intentions, knowing simply it was stuck. She laid the blade laterally on its stomach, her face a bright shade of contentedness. Suddenly at that very moment, a jolt of titillation ran up her hind-leg, and the queen’s face contorted as she burst into a fit of laughter, breaking her concentration that kept the kitten apprehended and the knife in her control.
The knife clattered and the kitten shuffled away as the queen hopped back from the counter to kick and stamp the accursed hoof as she giggled and spat curses. “Wh-who is this!” she blurted, “Stop! you fiend!” She could feel very predominantly, fur brushing the inside of one of the holes in her back-left leg. “Stop this instant! The Changeling queen is ticklish in-” She sputtered as a pang hit her, followed in suit by a giggle, “-in her leg holes!” She danced ever more frantically to dislodge the kitten as it wiggled and stirred to escape its adventure-gone-wrong. “S-stop! I command you! P-please!” She lit her horn in a flicker as she pranced in a circle, but the location of the kitten eluded her with every fit of tickles, and the glow degraded.
“I shall d-destroy you!” She threatened then giggled some more. She stumbled herself to the wall and kicked it in a thunderous smash, shuddering anything not screwed to the wall, but to her disdain, not dislodging the kitten.“I sh-shall- I shall devour your soul!” she shouted in desperation while trotting heavily in place, the tickling becoming beyond unbearable. She laughed and thumped about recklessly, blinded by the excruciating tickling sensation, and not seeing the bowl she tossed away.
She tumbled head first into the lower cabinets, the shock of the impact shoving the remaining three kittens off the counter, into a cushioned landing on her belly as well as sending the cutting board and blade down, the latter sinking into the floor near her head. The cabin blurred and spun above her as her innards churned within. Gravity eventually settled and her bearings were regained. She watched, with her mouth hanging, the kittens dipping and crawling over her belly, then to the half-inch-deep knife by her throat .
“you devilish spawns,” she berated between breaths. But as her anger began to develope it fluttered innocently away, her scowl smoothly sliding into a grin. She opened her mouth to say more, but she was lost for words. The culprit of the initial attack, the calico, found himself dislodged by her side and crawled his way up her body to meet with his kin. She winced as the claws dug into her side, but her grin only grew wider as he lugged himself over. She chuckled, this time on her own accord, a sense of humor developing as she looked about herself.
“Trying to assassinate the changeling queen are you?” The black kitten turned his head over at the sound of her voice, looking into her eyes with his blank face. For some reason unknown to her, it made her smile ever wider “Well, I must applaud you for your gaul.” The tuxedo lept and pounced its black counterpart who ignored it as it did before. “I must admit,” The queen spoke, talking as if they understood, “you’re appearances are deceiving for the seasoned criminals you must be.”
She thought to stand, but the thought occurred to her she didn’t wish to, but instead wished to lay where she was and watch the kittens fumble seemingly directionless over top of her. After having her fill, she decided to stand and levitated the kittens with her, laying them on the countertop once more. She grabbed a few swamp berries from the bag and magically shredded them. “I don’t suppose you creatures would find these droppings of Cerberus to be appetizing at all.” She offered the first piece to the tuxedo. It sniffed it a few times, then munched on it in adorable, exaggerated chews. As it finished, it looked up and mewed presumably for more. She smirked for what it seemed like the fourth or fifth time in a row. “Figures that scum assassins have a well rounded scum diet.” She chuckled inwardly.
She offered more to the rest until they refused anymore. She nearly lifted them magically again as she left, but as she watched them wobble and shuffle, she grabbed them with her fore-leg instead, holding their soft coats against her’s. They wiggled and purred between her fore-leg and chest, giving her the feeling of growing adoration for their tiny life-filled bodies, despite how benign. She made for the living room, but stopped as she spotted the knife in the floor, tugging it out with a green aura.
“Your failure to take my life must burn inside, does it not?” She spun the blade under her inspecting eyes. “All that time and effort gone to waste must disappoint. The destruction of your dream as it floated just beyond your reach, the humiliation of defeat, it all festers like a rotting dog in your conscious, doesn’t it?” She looked down to gauge their reaction. Not to her surprise, they had none. “I’m far too familiar with that feeling,” She went on as she entered the living room.
The tuxedo and white cat batted at each other while the calico wiggled and twitched under her arm, the black kitten simply sitting and watching. She laid herself on the perimeter of the floor pillow and set the bumbling bunch in the middle. The group wondered and played within its confines as she brought up the thick, red book, worn at the edges, to complete the wall around the kittens.
“This,” she started as she peeled open the book, “Is princess Mi Amore Cadenza of the naive crystal ponies.” On the two pages were several snippets from magazines and newspapers of Cadence with scribbled writing that covered every blank area. “I had ever so perfectly taken her place in a guise, the real her trapped in a system of crystal caves that spanned the inside of the entire mountainside.” She motioned her hoof to an imaginary mountain. “ I used her husband’s love to fuel my powers and even defeated the mighty Celestia.” Her eyes flashed with brilliance “I could have ruled Equestria with that power. I-”
The disease struck again. The memories hit her like a brick wall. Her eyes glazed over as she froze and recalled the defeat like she was still there. Her expression melted, not into anger, but empty sullenness. She spoke softly, “But as fate would have it, a purple unicorn, too curious for her own good, freed Cadence and decapitated my entire plan.” Her voice cracked as her throat tensed up “She and her husband tossed the entire changeling army and I back to our own wretched land in the most humiliating display I had ever witnessed” She sat for a moment, staring into the fire as she sat on the fringe of an emotion she hadn’t felt in a long time.
The tuxedo lifted itself upon the page and batted at the loose edge of one of the snippets. Chrysalis looked down to the sound of its paws against the paper. As she watched the kitten attack the picture, a warmth sprouted in her chest. “Oh,” She remarked, her voice re-growing its integrity, “so you wish to challenge the princess of the Crystal Empire, ye beast of the twin peaks, sibling of the dreaded Ragual.” The kitten rolled onto its back and began to paw at her dangling hair. She chuckled, and with it, found something in her she lost in a castle. “Perhaps not yet.” She smirked and looked over at the page of her plotting. After a moment of thought, she willed the book several hundred pages back until she settled on a picture of herself with wider eyes and a bigger smile.
“This is me when I was much younger, before even when I defeated my elder sisters in the duel for the crown. Then, I was naive and arrogant in many ways, but in those days it was fun and carefree. I had no duties, no problems, not even a solidified dream to hold myself to. I ran and entertained myself to whatever suited my fancy.
I played with the newborns in the spawning cavern, I explored the swamp in this very area, then it was bright and vibrant with creatures you wouldn't believe. We even had a kingdom our own with walls and spires that rivaled even Canterlot castle. I loved it there the most. We had many things before the great neglect, and our problems were much simpler than they are now.” She glimpsed the pit of mud, but the black kitten had been watching the movement of her mouth with curiosity, and to this she smiled.
“But it was my hair a few years later that was truly a sight to see, and not in the pleasant way...”
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“... and I walked all the way-” She stretched her mouth open for a yawn, “-home through the black sands to return with nothing to show for it. My sisters mocked me when I told them. No one believed me. I’ve yet to return there still. I’m not shy to admit I was still afraid after all these years of that mysterious place beyond those sands.” She looked over and and saw the calico had finally fell asleep with the others, snuggled up against her and one and another. She watched and appreciated the rising and falling of their bodies as they breathed and purred, feeling their warmth against herself. She closed the book and laid her own head down.
“Perhaps,” She almost whispered with her eyes already resting. “I can return and face the beast.” The fire crackled on its last bits of tender in a low glow. “I’m not afraid anymore”. Then too did the glow extinguish into darkness.
