My Little Chryssie

Chapters

Part I
Part II
Part III
Part IV
Part V
Part VII
Part VIII
Part VI

Part I

I've never been a perfect man. I've got an ex who won't let me see my kid. I guess I didn't make enough money or get her enough material things. The town I live in was suffering through a bad economy for the region, so it was tough to raise a family. Well, she got a call from an old flame one day while I was out looking for work. I had to borrow money from friends for gas so I could drive to an interview the next town over. She had been quiet the past couple of months, raising our daughter, telling me I needed to get back to work soon. I knew she was high maintenance when I first got with her a few years ago, but hey, I was in love and she completely swept me off my feet.

Things change. Work dried up and the business I worked for folded, closed up shop, the owners going elsewhere to start again. I tried to find new work, found it at a local convenience store, but by then she was gone, taking the kid and the promise from somebody I had never heard of. I had never pried into her past life, but I guess the guy just had more to offer than me. In reaction to this great event in my life, I did what any other normal guy would do.

I got roaring drunk and did my best to stay that way. Wallowing in self pity became my mantra, my escape from reality. She wrote me a letter, promising me I would never see my kid again and she was going to be with a real man who made real money.

I guess the Purple Heart I earned in Afghanistan along with the Silver Star does not make me a man, huh? Whatever. I wasn't even in my mid twenties yet, having done my time and was adjusting to life as a civilian. I thought I was on the right track. I thought I had a great girl, one of those 'next door' types who was sweet and loving. Met her right after basic training and at my first assignment. A year later, she was pregnant. We had a daughter. We were both happy. Then I was deployed for eighteen months. She became unhappy while I was gone and distant to me. The Army cut me loose after my commitment to it and I set my sights on making a commitment to my family. I had no more desire to go fight someone else's war.

It wasn't enough. She left anyway.

So, I got drunk. I stayed drunk. Beer became my constant companion. Meanwhile, the town around me died little by little, businesses closing down until all that was left was the gas station where I worked, a small mom and pop diner, and the Post Office serving half the county. The population of the town had never been big to begin with, but I liked the country feel and I was living in the house my grandparents had left me. It was paid off, so all I had to do was worry about the property taxes each year and utilities. It was also a couple of miles from work, so I occasionally would walk to work on nice nights. Early fall was the best time of year to do that, I discovered in my semi-drunk permanent state. Yeah, being drunk and working while drunk was just a wonderful way to live. Yay me.

God, I was pathetic.

Despite what people might think, being a war veteran didn't mean I owned firearms. I didn't even like hunting, as it was the past time during the proper seasons. To be honest, I hated firearms. I hated violence. But, that's what I signed up for when I was fresh out of high school and looking for adventure. Boy, did I grow up fast and establish my own opinions on war, having been in the middle of it.

Do you know what it's like to be twenty and see a man die in front of you? Do you know what it's like to be the one who pulled the trigger? I don't dwell on it now, taking the reasonable approach it was him or me. The guy was armed, too and aimed to do me harm. That was a bad day. I've got the scars where the shrapnel tore into my shoulder and where the bullet bit into my side. They tell me I shot half a dozen enemy combatants that day. It was a blur to me, even when I grabbed a wounded buddy and fireman carried him to safety after he'd been concussed by a grenade.

I hate war. I also understand the reason for it. It's a bunch of young guys killing each other for the benefit of old guys. I'm also still young to my life, so my opinion is just a narrow view of a much bigger world always mired in some sort of conflict somewhere. It's a hell of a way for a kid to lose the image of what life was supposed to be like. It's even worse when your girl takes your daughter and leaves.

I guess I'm just a little bitter. Sue me.

Still, I guess it was one of those things I could not control. Life has a funny way of telling you there are a lot of things you can't control. At least I could control the beer flowing into my mouth.

There were days I didn't want to drink. The alcoholic withdrawals were absolutely delightful. The shaky hands, the constant sweating, the anxieties. They went well with some of the nightmares I had. Such a fantastic combination, let me tell you. I may have left the war behind me, but it never left my mind. Yeah, it was just another excuse to keep drinking. Some demons just stick with you no matter how bad you try to drown them.

At least I stayed sober to keep my job and do good enough to earn a raise from minimum wage to minimum wage plus a quarter an hour. It had been a year since I'd gotten the job. Thirteen months since I'd seen my daughter. She was turning three in a few months. The only photo I have of her was when she was nine months old and in my arms.

I miss her.

I was walking home one night from work, having closed up at ten and had two miles of walking ahead of me. A half hour of walking. I didn't know it was going to rain, but it did. It was a late summer storm, threatening me as I locked up the front door of the gas station and start heading home, wishing I had my jacket. It had been a slow day. The owner thinks he might have to close down the gas station. He and I are the only people working it. My only day off is Sunday, at least, when the station is closed. That's tomorrow.

I'm getting pelted by the first drops of the advancing storm. I can already smell it in the air, the rain on the cool wind. It's a fairly big one, too. I've been hearing the thunder rumbling an hour before getting off of work. Typically, I'm a big fan of thunder and lightning. It's nature's way of saying hello to me. My grandma used to tell me that when I was little and when the thunder scared me. There's something odd about this storm. I get glimpses of the clouds through the rapid flashes of lightning streaking and snaking through them. Most of the strikes stay up in the air, making spiderweb arcs branch everywhere. God, it's beautiful.

It begins to rain harder, my path along the old country road pitted with potholes and cracked asphalt. It's been at least forty years since the state or county did anything to this particular stretch of road. The ground is still dry enough I can still kick up dust through the falling rain.

Mother nature decides to dump a bathtub of water on me.

It's a cool rain, reminding me the seasons will be changing soon. It feels good and I find myself enjoying the pitter-patter of falling drops of water on my face. The wind picks up a bit and again I wish I had my jacket instead of the plain black t-shirt. I feel sober, but my hands are shaking a little. I'm craving a drink right now and pick up my step. The town's a dry town, so I keep my beer at home, in the fridge and always in good supply.

I find myself wishing at that moment for a bolt of lightning to strike me dead.

I almost get my flippant and offhand wish.

Green lightning falls, striking an electrical pole I'm passing by. The transformer attached to it explodes in a shower of sparks as it overloads. Instinctively, I duck into the ravine as the rain continues to pour down, my mind flashing to a desert halfway around the world, a different sort of lightning raining down upon me back then.

Mother nature can be a bitch.

I'm lying there in ground rapidly transforming to mud, filling with water from the flash flooding. I'm on my knees, trying to crawl up to the road. My eyes search through the night to where the pole is...rather was. It was split in half by the strike, the heavy wires falling towards the corn field instead of towards the road. I was damn lucky none of the wires touched the water. Standing up, I realize the rain is beginning to lessen, though the skies still rumble overhead. Rainfall is steady as I brush myself off as best I can and begin to trudge my way home. I can see my house from here as I pass last empty house within the town limits. It's pretty much a straight shot home as I turn left on the dirt road.

As I go along, I can't help but think I hear something behind me, following. It doesn't sound like anything big, but it's also too dark to see anything to be certain what it might be. Plastered from head to toe with wet clothing, the misery is expected. The wind becomes unseasonably cooler, causing me to shiver. The sounds are gone, I note after pausing in my step. My imagination must be on overdrive. With a heart still thumping from the lightning strike, I move on, trying to control my breathing, telling myself over and over again it's just a storm and home is just a little further away.

Another flash of lighting tells me there something in the road ahead. Thinking I could have sworn the thing had a pair of green glowing eyes, I stop as the skies rumble in following the lightning. It wasn't very large, I guessed, perhaps the size of a raccoon. Those things are everywhere out here in the country, as well as opossums and coyotes and whitetail deer. Maybe it was a bobcat? They're uncommon in these parts, but not unheard of. Whatever it was, it was bigger than a cat. Another flash and there's nothing there as I approach the spot. Dropping to a crouch, I can't help but think it's not just another animal. I feel like something is stalking me, watching me.

Hunting me?

Standing up, I shake my head, laugh at myself. "Well, if you want me, here I am!" Raising my arms out, I spread my fingers wide, palms out and do a slow turn. "Dinner is served!"

Stupid animals.

Still laughing, I resume my trip home. Not even three steps and there's a pair of green harlequin eyes staring up at me from within a small dark form, head tilted to one side. The little thing is looking at me, obviously from the look of those weird eyes. They creep me out, being wide, intent, expectant.

Afraid. Of me.

What is it? I wonder, having never seen anything like it ever before in my life. I can't make out any details of the creature other than the eyes. It's just too dark. Squatting down and not afraid of it, I try to get a better look at it. As I tilt me head to one side, the little thing mimics me. It's got some sort of mane, judging from the sodden hair in a wet tangle, a lighter color than the black body.

"What are you?" I ask the little creature.

It hesitates, head turning to one side, regarding me. Then, in perfect imitation of my voice, it says, "What are you?"

Jumping back, my eyes become round saucers and I'm plopping soundly on my butt, legs sprawling out from under me. Yes, I've heard my voice before and no, I don't think it's very impressive. Hearing it from this little thing as it parroted...

I'll admit, that creeped me out far more than seeing the eyes for the first time. But it didn't seem dangerous. Besides that, I'm at least ten times bigger than it is. But it strikes me this creature is obviously like nothing I've ever seen before. I've seen all the wildlife out here and none of them appear...cartoonish. Something nags at me, the little creature oddly familiar, especially those eyes. Where had I seen them before?

"I won't hurt you," I tell the creature.

Pulling back a touch, I gather my legs under me. What the hell was it? It's on the tip of my tongue. I'd seen it in some animated show somewhere, but where? Why was it familiar to me? It's too dark to tell and it's beginning to rain hard. Did it bite? I wondered, thinking I can see little fangs sticking out in contrast to the dark body. The form is shivering violently, eyes looking at me fearful, yet curious. Why doesn't it run away if it's afraid of me?

Slowly I reach my right hand out to it, ready to pull away if it decides to put its fangs to use. Those eyes flicker from my face to my fingers warily, crouching a little like a cat seeing a stranger's hand for the first time. A leg curls up and I notice its got holes in it. It's my turn to hesitate as a little bell dings in the back of my dim mind. Repeating my last assertion to it, I'm convinced somehow it can understand me.

"It's dry and warm in my house," I tell it gently and as nonthreatening as possible.

Why am I talking to it like it's a child? I don't know. I feel I have to do something. Besides, it looks like it's going to rain all night and I don't feel like spending all night talking to some wild animal. Muttering to myself, I think I'm hallucinating the imitation of my voice. Maybe I need to stop drinking, I tell myself, getting up and preparing to just walk away from the oddball thing. Besides, with those legs, it must be crippled, I assume.

The little black thing shies away from me, eyes blinking, going flat. Fangs are bared at me, long mule-ish ears laying flat against the wet plastered skull. That more or less makes up my mind for me.

"Fine," I say, almost with relief. "Be that way." Standing up and giving the little dark creature a very wide berth the journey home resumes. I take long strides, wanting to get inside and out of these wet clothes. Getting out of the weather would be nice, too.

There's the sound of crunching gravel behind me on light steps, hurrying after me. I stop, do a half turn, my head swiveling over my shoulder as I do so. Sure enough, the little creature is following me. Its backpedaling a step or two. Lightning flashes and I get a glimpse of detail. The snout is small with a squarish muzzle. The head is large, the eyes impossibly so in relation to the skull they're set in. In between them and just above the forehead is a crooked little horn. I think I recognize it. Her hair is long and straight despite the tangles. She appears thin and I don't know how I came to the conclusion it's female. The face is round, a little chubby, perhaps even cute.

"What?" I ask her.

She blinks at me, again tilting her head to one side. The eyes aren't glowing anymore, I notice. The creature sits on her haunches, again regarding me with a mix of curiosity and fear.

"Why are you following me?"

The little dark creature doesn't answer, but looks away almost as if ashamed. I could have sworn I saw a sad little frown on her face, but again, it's dark and even my night eyes are having trouble keeping detail with the constant lighting flashes messing with my vision. Where do I know her from? The horn still beckons at me, teasing me, like that one quiz answer at the tip of my tongue I just can't quit spit out.

For some reason I feel like I'm about to lose in that game show about being smarter than some grade schooler.

Wagging a finger at her, I tell her, "I know who you are, I just can't remember."

Her long ears flop forward, again her head tilting to one side. She blinks and starts shivering again. "I know who you are," she mimics.

I kneel again, holding my hand to her. Again, she shies, but she does not bare her fangs at me like before. Looking away for a moment, her ears are flat and she can't bring herself to match my gaze. I don't move, the rain falling steadily. It's all I can hear at the moment; raindrops on the ground, striking the leaves of the tree. Then there's the rolling thunder of the passing front. A last bolt flares overhead, almost immediately followed by bowling angels. God bowls a strike and the little creature leaps at my chest, her legs reaching for me as I can hear the unmistakable sound of a frightened little cry.

Making a clumsy attempt to catch her, I'm again plunked unceremoniously onto my rear, this shivering little thing on my lap huddling up to me and trying to press herself into my stomach. She's got her - hooves? - wrapped around my right arm, clutching fearfully. Almost as if she's aware of what she just did, her head tilts back, staring up at me in near stark terror while I stare back down at her in wonderment. For the first time I notice she's got some sort of stiff buzzing things I can only assume are some sort of insect-like wings stirring up the air around them in her anxiety. She's also got a carapace and soft chitin covered in a thin and soft layer of fur. Her tail is the same as her mane and is now plastered around my arm with her hooves as she curls herself against me.

She's still shivering, but manages to spit out a little half-hearted hiss at me.

"I won't hurt you," I tell her gently, wrapping my other arm around her little form. I can feel her heart pounding through her little chest though she tries to put on a fierce little face. "It'll be faster if I carry you," I say, gathering my legs under me and slowly rising without making any sudden movements. "Please don't bite."

She won't let go of my arm. Taking that as a reassuring sign, I start jogging up the driveway from the road leading up to my house. With a strange animal. With human intelligence. With a cartoonish appearance.

It must be the alcoholism. Instead of pink elephants, I'm lugging around a miniature bug horse. Go figure. I'm thinking I'm going to have to chalk this up to Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, or maybe this is just some sort of weird dream. Or maybe I'm finally losing it and falling into the lovely pit of insanity.

Yay me.

I'm at the door, having climbed up the porch steps to the overhang of the two story country house that's been in my family four generations. Fumbling for my keys from my jeans pocket and being rather expert at unlocking doors with one arm while holding a case of beer, it's a simple matter of transferring my unusual (if a bit unwilling) package from unwrapping herself from my right arm and to my left. Somehow I manage it and after a moment of fumbling while she's kicking feebly with her little hooves in steadily growing panic at being held awkwardly.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" I tell her as the door finally unlocks and allows me access.

Tossing my keys on the table next to the front door once inside, I give her support with my other arm and head into the living room. She's still shivering, but at least she's now out of the rain. Dripping wet from head to toe, I pull a blanket off the back of the couch and immediately wrap her in it. I set her down gently and turn the light on by reaching over to the lamp on the end table.

Finally, I can get a good look at her. Everything is pretty much as I saw outside, but the detail is much easier to make out. She's young - very young - and I can't even begin to fathom her age. If someone were to ask me to guess, I would put her at about three or four years old, or about my daughter's age. I've had time to mull it over between the primary thoughts of what the hell is going on with this night and now I'm looking down at a cartoon character from a show I saw a few times. It takes a moment for me to realize I am not looking at one of the heroines from the show. I've even read the fan fictions creative authors wrote detailing their little encounters with colorful mares. My Little Dashie immediately sprang to mind as I realize right then and there I'm looking at a character from My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic. But, that was years ago!

"Impossible!" I blurt.

She looks up at me and immediately chirps, "Impossible!" It's a perfect imitation.

Dripping in the middle of my living room with a filly cartoon character of a villain who is none other than Chrysalis, Queen of the Changelings herself on my couch right now is making me feel like I missed something somewhere while traveling the road of life.

My sanity.

"You're not real," I say, a shaking finger pointing at the tip of her muzzle.

She stares at it, blinking as she shrinks into the blanket. I don't think she cares much for the tone in my voice. I stagger away, my head suddenly dizzy and nearly lose my balance when the back of my leg clips the coffee table in the middle of the room. Chrysalis - yes, I'm pretty sure this is the one and only - is sitting up in the middle of my blanket and now giving me a mournful expression that's so adorable, there's no possible way she's evil. The show never really did go into detail about them, other than what she said about them needing love to feed upon. Right now she's chewing on the corner of the blanket, looking up at me nervously.

"Okay, maybe you are real."

She blinks at me, again trying to figure me out as I'm trying to figure her out. Or I think she is. I don't know. I'm so confused with this!

"Are you hungry? Can you eat regular food?" I know I'm hungry. My stomach rumbles right after I ask the question.

The dripping changeling filly droops her head and stares at the blankets curled around her. She's got fangs. Does she eat meat? The show never really covered that. Oh, sure, there were fan fictions out there having changelings doing everything from being carnivores, to omnivores, to herbivores, and even just being emotional food junkies. Some had them doing everything. Well, there was only one way to find out. Right now she's trying to eat the blanket again, chewing and drooling through it. Yep. She's hungry all right.

But first, I needed to take a shower and put on some dry clothing before I caught something. Before that first, I needed to finish drying her off before I took care of my needs. No, no, I should feed her first. Yes, I'll feed her first after I get a towel and dry her off.

I'm thinking clearly, aren't I?

"I'll be right back," I promise and disappear down the hall to the bathroom.

There's just the one bathroom near the kitchen and next to the main bedroom. Grabbing a towel from the linen closet just outside the bathroom, I fish out a fluffy towel and return to see Chrysalis still curled up and still shivering. She stares up at me, eyeing the towel with wide eyes.

I slowly sit down next to her little form and hold out the the thick towel. I try to give her my most reassuring voice. "It's to dry you off."

The filly sniffs it - I don't know why I'm calling her a filly - then seems to relax a little as I start to dry her mane with it. She seems to smile, enjoying the attention and half closing her eyes. Within moments, she's laying against me, hooves stretched out as she's on her side while I finish up her tail. Chrysalis seems on the verge of falling asleep, but then I hear her stomach growl. The little changeling whimpers, giving me an unmistakable 'I'm hungry' expression. Her forehooves are rubbing her tiny stomach.

I get up, leaving the blanket draped over her. I'll get her a clean blanket later, after she eats. The main problem seems to be what she'll eat. Worried she'll starve to death before I do anything useful to help her, I start pulling anything I can think of out of the refrigerator, the cupboards, the pantry; bread, cheese, bologna, roast beef, turkey slices, pickles, crackers, milk, cereal (Cap'n Crunch!), peanut butter, grape jelly, carrots, corn on the cob, an apple, an orange, and even a slice of pecan pie from the elderly couple half a mile from the house and my closest neighbors. I make several trips to and from the kitchen, bringing armloads of whatever I think Chrysalis might eat and put it on the coffee table. She watches me curiously, even offering a few sniffs at the things I bring.

It's like she's waiting for me to stop moving, her eyes never leaving me. Once I bring the last of the food in, I begin offering some to her. To my surprise, she's really not all the finicky, though I find she prefers lunch meat.

Okay, maybe I went a little overboard in providing a feast for a cartoon character. Regardless, I make her a sandwich, slicing it into wedges and letting her eat at her own pace while I scarf down my half. It doesn't take long to fill her little belly. She's done with a burp and a hoof gently pushing my offer of another dill pickle away. Chrysalis had already devoured two, having enjoyed them.

For the next few minutes she watches me as I put everything back from the coffee table into the kitchen. After a few minutes cleaning up, I come back to the living room and find she's curled up on the wet blanket. With a dry quilt my grandmother made in my arms, I lay it out on the other end of the couch. Chrysalis does not hesitate and gets up and crawls sluggishly to the quilt. Snuggling into it she looks at me wonderingly. Without thinking, I reach out and pet her like a cat, scratching between her ears. Reacting like one, the filly's head pushes into my fingers, raising her chin. Soon, I'm scratching her chin and she's got this happily little smile on her face. She licks my hand with a forked little red tongue and ends it with a mighty yawn.

Yes, she does have a forked tongue.

Thinking her asleep, I go and take a shower, brush my teeth and get ready for bed. After one final walk through the house, checking the doors and turning out the lights, I give Chrysalis one more check and find she's still in a little ball of happy slumber. Still thinking this is all some bizarre dream, I shrug and head for bed. For a long time, I lay there on top of my blankets.

I'm in sweats and a t-shirt, so I don't need to get under the covers. It's quiet. I can hear the grandfather clock in the dining room chime midnight. Rain pelts the roof steadily. I watch it hit the large window of my bedroom, the outside porch light reflecting the contours of the rain as it slides down the glass. From where I lay, it's easy to see where the glass is imperfect, a little warped. It reminds me how much I need to modernize the house. I'd already sunk what money I could spare into repairs to the roof, buying the materials and patching where I could when I could.

I used to have a cat when I was a kid. He would always enter my room in the middle of the night to jump up into bed and sleep with me, usually curling up by my head. He was the only reason I would keep my bedroom door open because I knew he would eventually come. What was neat was I always seemed to know when he was coming in. That cat would never hide his approach. He would then wait until I called his name. Then he'd meow and hop on up. What I was hearing now reminded me of that.

But I don't have a cat.

The little footsteps entered the room, padding on the cushioning carpet I seemed to hear rustle beneath little hooves. I could hear sniffing nostrils. Something tugged at the bed cover. The tip of a horn could be seen as I turned to follow the disturbance with my eyes and ears. Chrysalis was trying to see over the bed and was balancing on her hind legs, resting her forehooves against the side of the mattress and box spring. I could not help myself as a smile crept across my face, suppressing the giggling chuckle I could not stop. There's also an odd little buzzing sound. It takes me a moment to realize it's her wings. It's a lot like listening to a very large and restless housefly.

This was too cute!

I called her name. "Chrysalis?"

Instead of making a meow like my cat used to, she seemed to be encouraged to try her hand - er, hoof at jumping up. I see the top of a little dark head with a turquoise mane and a pair of holed hooves hook on the edge of the bed. There a brief moment of a struggle before she promptly falls off and hits the floor with a thud. Unlike a cat, she does not have claws with which to grab a hold of the cloth and haul herself up. All she has are hooves and I really don't think she's figured out how to use her magic yet. Maybe she's too young? I roll over and peer down, seeing this little face on the verge of tears staring right back up at me, setting on her rump with her hind legs splayed out from the fall and her ears laid flat.

Seeing me looking down at her, she makes an imperious little sound, holding both her front hooves up at me to be picked up. Chrysalis looks like she's going to bawl if I don't pick her up and do as she 'commands'.

The little princess was well on her way to becoming a queen, I thought as I obliged her wordless demand and had her on the bed with me. She's a little bit larger than a house cat and finds the nook between my left shoulder and head the perfect place to nestle down in once we settle in for the night. Chrysalis nuzzles me with what I assume is affection as I don't know if changelings understand love. She has to, considering I'm viewing this as genuine affection. It might not be love, but hey, she sure did not want to be alone. I can't say I could blame her. The little princess settles in, curling into a ball and letting me stroke her mane. It's very soft, I find.

I ask her the same question the guy from the Dashie story asked his guest: "How did you get here?" I'm whispering into the ear flopping towards me.

She raised her head, not tired, apparently and looks at me curiously. Seeing the real eyes as opposed to those in the show is a surreal experience. It's better than the first time you see the eyes of the Queen of the Changelings, when she's Princess Mi Amore Cadenza, disguised and singing This Day Aria, Part 1 and her eyes flash to those harlequin beauties at the part where she sings "What they don't know is that I have fooled them all!".

What can I say? I'll be one to admit that was one of the coolest scenes in the whole show. Now those eyes are looking at me, studying me with curious intelligence any bright child might have. Assuming she's going to be a queen, I was already picturing the years were going to be interesting if nobody came for her or if she wasn't found out.

It's clear she doesn't know, but I can't help but think the storm was the obvious answer. Perhaps a spell gone awry in Equestria? Perhaps she was trying to invade Canterlot again and was caught in a spell similar to the one that sent Rainbow Dash as a filly to earth? Of course, that was a story.

Or was it?

The guy's journal had turned up somewhere and somebody published it on the internet. Was there some threshold between reality and fantasy that had somehow been crossed? Was someone hiding it? If so, why? It was a silly question to wonder. Since when did a children's show cross over from someone's imagination into a world of flesh and blood and mortality?

I was starting to think the man's story was not so weird after all. There had been sequels to that story, of course. The guy had gone to Equestria and had even lived a long life happily until the end. But that was years from now. Even so...

"Why me?"

Chrysalis looks at me, her eyes drooping and heavy lidded. She yawns, showing off her little fangs and smacks her lips sleepily. She snuggles closer, her breath warm on my cheek.

I find myself answering my own question with the ever philosophical, why not?

Author's Note

All props and respect to the original author of "My Little Dashie". I have never seen anyone do a spin of the story with Chrysalis, so I thought "Why not?".

Enjoy!

Part II

I awake the next morning to a pair of green harlequin eyes looking at my face, blinking wide and nuzzling with an urgent little snout. I groan, roll on my side as Chrysalis half crawls, half climbs over my shoulder and side, grunting and protesting with little snorts. I peer at the clock. It's reading five after five in the morning. I was being woken up on a Sunday after less than five hours of sleep. By a cartoon character.

She bats my nose and chin with a hoof, making a little shriek with her voice. Little whimpers tell me I'd better get up and see what she wants.

"Oh, God you are real!" I groan, realizing last night was not a dream. There was a My Little Pony character on my bed and she was doing...

I'm staring at her now, watching the odd little dance she's doing. Almost as if...

It became a bit of a race when she started trickling and I pick her up, saying, "Please don't, no! Hold it! Hold it!" while the changeling filly is doing her best to hold her urine in. After a quick lesson in showing her how to use the facilities and giving her an impromptu bath after, I set a squeaky clean changeling down on the floor and set to the much needed task of cleaning up. Chrysalis wore a downcast expression. She must have felt awful.

That's one way to convince someone you're not a dream. Pee on everything.

Thirty minutes later, I've got a load of laundry in the washing machine and scrubbing the last of the stains up from the carpeting while a shame-faced princess watches me from the other side of the hallway. She's looking absolutely pitiful, her ears drooping and she's sniffling, making little circles on the hardwood floor with a holey hoof. Chrysalis had not moved at all since I started cleaning her mishap.

"It was an accident," I tell her with a smile, trying to reassure her.

She sniffles again, looking away. I finish cleaning and she follows me, making little sounds. I don't think she can talk, but Chrysalis is vocal little princess. As I'm putting the cleaning supplies away in the kitchen, she's nuzzling the back of my leg, still trying to apologize. Or at least I think she is. Maybe she just wants attention?

"What?" I ask her, arching both eyebrows.

She's humming at me, her little horn glowing green, her eyes insistent and pleading. Picking her up, I figure out she's wanting attention, or at least wanting to be picked up. It makes her happy and she nuzzles my face. "Sowwy," she says, trembling. It's her own voice, but oddly enough it wasn't disjointed. Maybe that develops as she gets older. Right now, it's just a little squeaky voice.

"That's okay," I say to her, surprised she can do something else other than mimic me and make little sounds. "You're not in trouble, Chrysalis. You're a good girl."

I had no idea changelings were affectionate. This throws me off as this is in stark contrast to the love hungry - no, maybe this is right after all. Taking an approach to changelings was going to have to require an open mind and a lot of patience. I'm sure she doesn't know how to be a changeling other than what her instincts tell her. One episode with changelings in it was not going to be like watching three seasons of the Mane Six and knowing the characteristics of each mare.

No, this was uncharted territory. Was this version of Chrysalis going to grow up and try and conquer Chicago? Of course, that was utterly ridiculous as I sat at the kitchen table with this little dark filly on my knee and playing with her. It's almost six in the morning now and I ask her if she's hungry.

Idly I wonder if she's feeding off my emotions right now. Maybe that's why she was so affectionate, trying to get me to lavish her with an emotional feast of some sort. How exactly did that work? According to the show, it weakened the hell out of Shining Armor, but that was magic. How about physically? Mentally? Did it drain on a mental capacity? Was I going to feel mentally fatigued? Or was it both mentally and physically? I set her on the table, leaning on my elbows while she nuzzles me, giggles and starts pressing the folds of my skin in different ways with her hooves, getting me to make funny faces. This amuses her greatly, Chrysalis sitting there on her rump, her little mouth open with laughter. Her little shrieks of joy are infectious and soon I'm giggling right along with her.

"We're going to learn a lot from each other," I tell her. She's so adorable!

"Learn from each other," she agrees - though she's imitating me. I wonder if that's the first thing changelings learn before shape-shifting. Can they do more than just ponies? Can they do humans? How would I be able to teach her? How am I going to teach her magic, for that matter? Magic doesn't exist on Earth, save for the tricks magicians do for their performances. But that's smoke and mirrors, sleight of hand, the hand being quicker than the eye and all that jazz. Right now, this little princess honking my nose was the most powerful magic user on the planet, unless some other sap somewhere had a Celestia or a Luna filly on their doorstep right now.

I'm cringing at the thought of such a thing happening and there being a meeting. Stuff like that makes me think of things blowing up; trees, houses, small cities, whole mountain ranges. How powerful were they, exactly? I could easily picture a crater where Mt. Everest once was with some very confused Sherpas staring where their money maker once was.

Okay, so I have a twisted sense of humor.

I don't know the limits of this filly who is now starting to get hungry. All I know is she is now my responsibility.

Yay me.

Again, I'm thinking of the guy who wrote the original story. The more I thought about it, the more I was beginning to think - and this might be the crazy talk in me - Equestrian futures were somehow finding their way into the Earth past. Of course, that was just ridiculous. But I had evidence right in front of me. The last I saw of Chrysalis in the show was at the end of Season Two, with her and her invading army doing their best Team Rocket impersonation.

I prepare breakfast as I ponder this, Chrysalis watching me curiously. I don't let her on the counter, but I do pull a chair near me so she can sit on it and watch what I'm doing. I'm showing her how to make pancakes, using the recipe my grandma copied from a Betty Crocker cookbook fifty years ago and for years claimed as her own. She's pretty intelligent and her eyes don't miss a thing I do. I even slow down and make the batter slowly, pointing out with my finger on the index card with the recipe written on it and telling her how to mix everything in. She is, of course too young and too little to actually help, but it's pretty fun to watch her learn.

The stove top is electric and Chrysalis feels the heat from the coils beneath the skillet I have set on it. "Don't touch," I tell her, pulling her away when she gets too close. "It's hot and you'll get burnt."

She lays her ears back and pouts a little, even going so far as to stamp a little hind foot imperiously. "Hot?" she asks me, using her own voice. Her head is tilted to one side.

"Very," I tell her with a nod. I begin to pour the first set of hotcakes.

We settle down for breakfast. Chrysalis has a sweet tooth as she discovers the power of maple syrup. I let her try a dab on her tongue as she looks at the bottle suspiciously when I set it on the table. Her eyes literally glow and I'm laughing as she's trying to pour it on her pancakes after I show her how to do it with mine, her hooves not exactly grasping the plastic successfully as she is small. She gets a lot on everything else, but manages to get a little of the syrup on her food. I have to help her, realizing I'm the one that's going to have to clean up the mess. The little filly glares at me for laughing at her, sticking out her lower lip as she pouts. There's maple syrup on her face, in her hair, sticking to her hooves.

I cut up her pancakes for her and we eat. I can't help but giggle at her. At least she's strong enough in magic to lift her cut up breakfast to her mouth. That's actually pretty cool to watch. She gets back at me for laughing at her when I'm suddenly being pelted by bite-sized hotcakes loaded with syrup. The smug little look on her face was worth it. My little princess so far is showing me she's got spunk with plenty to spare.

I clean her up with a bath in the kitchen sink, do the dishes, clean up the mess on the table and the stove while she sits and watches the television. Once the kitchen is spotless an hour later, I check on her and find she's watching the boob tube with her snout nearly pressing up against the screen. I pull her back to a more reasonable distance and tell her to stay put at the foot of the couch. Chrysalis sighs and watches me go, but I could have sworn her expression was a tad too innocent and she was a bit too compliant.

Sure enough, she's planted with her face inches from the television and watching Shrek tell Donkey to leave him alone. The changeling is giggling ceaselessly, her little mane bouncing as she tries to touch the characters with her hooves.

"Chryssie," I warn her, half serious.

She's scooting on her rump away from the TV, staring up at me, eyes wide as she whimpers, being caught being where she was told not to be.

I don't yell at her. She's too adorable to be mad at. It's like having one of the Cutie Mark Crusaders hanging around your house, except this one happens to be a changeling. And this changeling will eventually grow up to be a queen. How big would she get, anyway?

I spend that Sunday discovering Chrysalis is essentially a very intelligent toddler with a curiosity for everything. Giving her the grand tour is very interesting as she pokes her head everywhere, sniffing and letting me know when she finds something interesting. It doesn't take long to show her the first floor as she's already fairly familiar with it. I just have to constantly remind her to not play with the china in the dining room. Almost everything in there had belonged to my grandmother; the fine china, the silverware (needing to be polished) and other family heirlooms that had been exclusively hers until she passed two years ago. She had outlived grandpa five years, never going upstairs as she simply grew too old and frail to attempt the stairs. She had her neat little figurines and her collection of tea spoons from around the world.

So, I'm telling the little princess all about my grandparents. I was way closer to them than my actual parents. They divorced when I was six and I spent the next eleven years bouncing between them from state to state as both of them had jobs requiring them to move frequently. As a result, I saw a lot of the country and developed a personal love for taking trips. There was always something new to see over the next hill. In between those trips, I would spend the summers of my childhood here, in this house.

The house sat on a little over twenty acres of land. There used to be more, a few hundred acres of farmland, but it was sold off after Grandma died and divvied up among her six kids, including my mom. I got the house in the will and everything in it.

It was the most bittersweet gift I had ever gotten.

I'm telling this changeling child my life story. There's a beer in my hand, somehow transitioning from the fridge to my fist. The one-sided conversation continues. I'm speaking slowly, as if it's important to me Chrysalis understands what I'm saying. It doesn't seem to matter if she fully understands my words or their meanings, but I talk anyway. I don't talk to many people as it is, but I'm compelled to talk to a cartoon character.

I need to stop referring to her as one. She's a bright, intelligent little foal and she's listening to me.

By now, we're sitting outside on the porch swing, just watching the time go by, the conversation and the birds singing outside luring me to go out the front door. Chrysalis follows closely. It's a lazy Sunday and she's on my lap, just listening to more of my rambling at first before she starts dozing. Then I feel her head lay down on my lap and she's asleep.

As much as she's been listening to me, I've been studying her, watching her movements. Her wings, for one thing are restless. They buzz constantly. I'm learning to associate them with her moods, or at least it's a beginning. I can tell when she's excited and trying to hide it, for one thing. She enjoys the concept of family, I think. She's still pining for affection, but I get the feeling she's already feeding off me me. I'm feeling a little tired.

Crap, do I love her already? Or is it something else? No, too soon for love. Sympathy? Concern? Pity?

She's tapping at my half empty beer can in my right hand, interrupting her nap. Chrysalis seems to be a light sleeper. Curious as to what I'm holding, she follows her little expanding and contracting nostrils to the rim of the can until they're less than a half an inch away.

She recoils in disgust, her head swiveling up as if to ask me, How can you drink that?

"It's an acquired taste," I tell her, taking a sip.

Chrysalis makes a sour face, sticking her tongue out and going, "Bleh, bleh!"

I realize this might become a problem. I'm more worried because I don't know if I can stop drinking. I've been in a fluctuating state of inebriation every day for over a year now, yet this little filly is giving me pause to reconsider her first full day with me. Of course, there are a lot of circumstances behind her and other ponies with their interactions with humans adding weight. It's striking me right now that like it or not, I'm a father again.

"I'll work on it," I promise her, making a point to set the remaining beer aside. This mollifies her and I wonder if she even know what a drunk was.

Was this my second chance at being a dad?

Chrysalis is watching the world from the porch swing, her eyes and ears following the sights and sounds catching her fancy. She watches a pickup truck barrel down the dirt road going by the driveway. As she does so, she's trying to blend herself into my side, frightened by the red paint and sunlight glinting off glass and metal. With a squeak, Chrysalis is trembling, her hoof pawing at my chest.

I pull her from my side and hold her to my chest in a safe and comforting embrace. "It's just a truck," I said, almost adding a comment that it's an evil Chevy out hunting for little changeling princesses to devour. It was probably better I didn't as I have this scared little filly wanting to feel safe from something inanimate.

It's hard for me to see her as a powerful monarch who might grow as tall as I am and capable of shooting green magic bolts from her horn. Would she get that tall? Would she stay cute like this or turn into something monstrous?

Did I really want to find out?

"I'll protect you, Chryssie," I say to her as I feel her neck wrap around mine, her snout touching the back of my neck. "Nobody will hurt you while I'm around. I promise."

I've got to teach her about this world, teach her what can and can't hurt her. Unfortunately, I can only think of a lot of things under the list of 'can hurt'. It's a very long list.

Still, she's got a lot going to protect herself, I'm thinking as she settles down and smiles at me, having accepted my promise as the honest truth. Her most important ability for keeping her out of trouble - and again, I have no idea how this will come to pass - will be her shape-shifting ability. "I wonder what you can change into," I ask her in idle curiosity. Was it just other ponies? I'm brushing that aside as I think she will be able to manipulate her form in other ways. Right now, she's too young for a lot of things.

But she does have some use of her magic, as evident from her dining skills earlier at breakfast.

The sun is out, so I decide to take her to the backyard and let her run around on the grass. It's still a little wet outside, but the sod and thickness of the lawn should keep her from getting muddy. Plus Chrysalis isn't heavy enough to tear up the sod and get dirty. The weather is just perfect. I watch her play for an hour, thinking six million thoughts as I watch her run around and explore. She minds me when I tell her to stay in sight, but there's a tool shed, the little garden shed, the two rusted hulks of old tractors with all sorts of overgrown bushes working on claiming them in the form of miniature jungles. The changeling is just having the time of her life looking and exploring every and anything catching her attention.

As her little charcoal gray form darts to and fro and from place to place, I can't help but keep thinking how this could happen. The same question from last night persists. Why me?

The 'why not?' answer is great and all and I'm more than happy to settle for that, but there's that logical side of me (you know, the one I've pretty much ignored lately...hello alcoholism!) that wants to know the minute details in the events leading up to and causing the subsequent point where the Queen of the Changelings is now romping around my grandfather's old broken down farm tractor, the big lawn ornament she's now in the middle of conquering -

"Chrysalis, get down from there!" I'm running to her, waving for her to get down and that it's not safe and all those other things dads rant and rave about before reaching her and plucking her from the rust bucket.

I don't scold her or yell at her, but she's on the verge of tears, her ears laid back as she thinks she did something wrong.

I point at the rusty deathtrap next to her. "That's not safe to climb, okay? I don't want you to get hurt. I'm not mad at you. I just don't know what I'd do if you hurt yourself, okay?"

I've given her a terrible fright, I realize. Of course, I'm two hundred pounds of alcoholic apathy and pathos with a dash of indifference thrown in for good measure, but I'm still way bigger than she is and I was at that moment a looming monster over a little helpless child.

A hug and a reassuring talk later, everything is all right between us and Chrysalis is off and running again, the incident gone but not forgotten. She's not climbing anything now, but she's in the throes of exploring her new little world

It's clear I'll need to watch her like a hawk as she is a complete bundle of exploratory energy. I'll also have to say "no" a lot and correct her. I'm already imagining her as a little human girl as she responds a lot like one her age. But she's not my real daughter, the one my ex now has somewhere on the East Coast.

Even as I think that, I wonder if Chrysalis is all I'll ever have. These things happen for a reason. All things do. That's what Grandpa always used to say before the story of his life ended with him in his sleep, dreaming his way to Heaven. Grandma went the same way, now that I think about it, in his footsteps. They had been the two most wonderful and compassionate people I had ever known, convicted in their religious faith and to each other. Mom did her best to emulate them, but life and career left her divorced and bitter towards my dad, who was probably on wife number four or five by now. I call him on his birthday and on Christmas. I talk to my mom once a month. My sister sells real estate in Texas.

I'm the poor one in the family and that suits me fine.

But I do want to see my daughter again. I talk to her mother on a monthly basis, trying to make arrangements to see her without getting lawyers I can't afford involved. I tried to speak to the state about it, but they seemed indifferent to me.

It doesn't take me much to think of my real daughter. Her name is Crystal.

No, I don't think it's a coincidence either.

Without calling her, Chrysalis comes running to me when I think it's time for lunch. As soon as I start speaking her name, she stops what she's doing and she's pounding her little hooves into the sod and coming straight at me with a grin on her little dark face, her mane flopping wildly in her wake. It'll get longer and fuller as she gets older, I'm thinking, watching as she's now standing on her hind legs and letting me know she is getting hungry.

I'm looking down at her, thinking she must have read my mind or sensed I was going to call her. Somehow, I realize I am feeling her thoughts. Not sensing them, but feeling them! I get pictures, blurred images conveying her meaning. Was this some sort of developing form of telepathy? Some sort of mental link?

"Please don't do that," I tell her as my head throbs from her little mental intrusion. It's not particularly painful, but it caught me completely by surprise. This really creeped me out because I raised my voice louder than intended, stepping away from the wide-eyed filly.

Again, she thinks she's done something wrong.

It takes some reassuring, but I've managed again to convince her it's not her fault and that we're still learning about each other. What I don't tell her is she just scared the living hell out of me with that little mental thing she did. It also opened my eyes to the tip of a very large iceberg. I was not sure at this point if I really want to scratch the surface anymore. Scooting her inside, I watch her head for the kitchen, drooping a little as she's still feeling bad about going inside my head, or whatever it was she just did.

I go to the fridge and kill a beer before getting a second one to sip on. Chrysalis sits on the floor by my feet. I'm standing there with the door open, the first empty can crushed and just tossed in the sink with the second beer opened and in my hand and exchanging looks with a filly who suddenly has an unreadable expression. Mine must have been just as blank. She stares at me. I stare at her. Her ears flop indolently at me. I take a loud slurp of beer. She snorts, makes that sour face again and looks away, going to the kitchen table.

She is not a fan of my drinking habit is what her body language is telling me.

With that little odd exchange done, I start lunch. It's simple; tomato soup and peanut butter sandwiches with a glass of milk for Chrysalis. We eat quietly, the mood having been dampened by the head thing she did and my decision to chug a beer right in front of her after she had already decided beer is icky. She barely touches her food and sighs a lot, becoming withdrawn. She won't even raise her eyes to match mine. I hate seeing her this way. I'm also feeling like a jerk right now. I try to show her how to dip her sandwich wedge into the bowl of soup, but she doesn't want to pay attention.

I give this a moment to think, setting back in my chair and tapping a finger on the table with one hand while rubbing my chin with the other. At that moment, I'm glad I gave up smoking when I found out my girlfriend was pregnant, otherwise I'd be halfway through a pack since the filly's mind first touched mine.

"Does it bother you that much I drink?" I ask Chrysalis gently.

Her ears go forward and she looks up at me for the first time since the fridge. As much as I think this is just a filly - a very young child - looking at me, I can't help but think she knows every word I speak and is far more intelligent than I should probably be giving her credit for. I'm not saying she's stupid; far from it. But she's still very young, practically a toddler, but I keep assuming she's got the mind of a queen with conquest on her mind.

"Too much?" she's mimicking my voice again, but I get her point.

I tell myself I can't afford beer anyway and the money was going to be needed to help keep a growing changeling fed. I'm also seeing Chrysalis is not afraid at all to express her feelings on matters, even if she didn't fully understand them. On the other hand, she has senses I don't use very well (common sense probably being one of them, I'm ashamed to admit) and her sense of smell was more than enough to tell her beer is bad. If she thinks its bad, then it must be bad for me. Therefore, I must not partake in beer.

You're a little too young to start acting like a queen, young lady.

Demurely she sets about to her meal, her forked tongue lapping delicately at the soup. It meets with her approval and she's tilting the bowl towards her mouth with her hooves, slopping as much soup on her royal person as she is into her mouth. By now it's cool enough she can simply gulp it.

For the second time that day, I'm laughing at her eating habits, or lack thereof, but I remember to keep it to a chuckle this time as I don't want her squirting soup at me this time.

"Use your magic," I tell her simply, holding up my spoon.

She sets her bowl down and observes the form of her person, taking note she is once again a sloppy mess. An indolent sigh escapes from her mouth and she glares at me like I'm being a smartass. I waggle the spoon in my fingers.

"If you can throw food at me with your horn, you can use it to pick up your spoon and ladel your soup to your mouth," I say with a shrug.

Chrysalis blushes, looks at the instrument to the right of her bowl and concentrates. The spoon lifts slowly in the air with a wobble as she tries to figure out how exactly to hold it. Thinking I'm being helpful, I start spooning tomato soup to my mouth, slurping each time. The filly glares again at me, though flickers her harlequin eyes to my hands. Maybe she's thinking about my hands in relation to how she thinks about how to handle her spoon?

As I had noticed before, she's pretty smart and has a good sense of perception. Her first few attempts are unsuccessful, but she stubbornly keeps trying and soon is eating her soup properly and is very proud of herself at her accomplishment.

I find I'm proud of her as well and tell her so.

Then, I clean up and give her the third bath of the day. As I'm towelling her off again, I ask her, "This isn't going to start being a habit now, is it?"

The giggle I get in response isn't very reassuring.

Yay me.

We spend the rest of the day watching movies. Chrysalis loves sitting on the couch, facing the television, her hooves dangling over the edge as she sits up straight, wide-eyed and wondrous of the stories and the movements on the television screen. Her attention was transfixed, trance-like, ears perked forward and locked. Completely and utterly adorable with diabetes-inducing cuteness. Our first film is The Princess Bride, one of my personal favorites. Chrysalis absolutely loves the movie and I'm sure she would have asked me a ton of questions if she was old enough to talk. Instead, she's mimicking the lines and the voices of the actors.

For the rest of my life, the one word I will always associate with Chrysalis is the word "inconceivable". This would apply to her on so many levels in our time together, it would become something of a running gag for me, leaving me smiling at times, sad at others, and absolutely confused somewhere in between.

In between the first and second movie, I make a bowl of popcorn. Offering her some for the first time begins a love affair between the changeling and the movie treat. I even have to get my own sepearate bowl after watching her instant habit of not looking the bowl and just using her tongue to feel out and pick up the next bit of popped corn. Stretching her neck towards the bowl, she would - without breaking eye contact with the screen - snake out her long tongue with its forked ends and let it do a searching stroll through the popcorn. It's both cute and disturbing to watch, if that's at all possible and I really don't enjoy having changeling saliva on my popcorn. I let her have that bowl and make another one for myself.

Or second movie is my absolute favorite. Casablanca. Chrysalis is a little confused as the picture is in black and white, but she watches anyway. I can hear her munching, munching, munching away at her popcorn. She's leaning against my leg, comfortable and just enjoying herself. The filly is about as comfortable as I've seen her in the sixteen hours or so since she came into my life. She can't understand the plot of the movie or the story line or even the reasons for the characters in any of the movies, but she knows it is entertaining.

I was also keen to not show her anything too violent with either movie (she absolutely loved the sword fights). I keep thinking maybe I should show her movies more appropriate for her age, but the two movies I thought were very tame and were both new to her, so she wasn't bored by them. I also got the sense it might be insulting to plop her down in front of a cartoon with inane characters and no plot to speak of. Right now, I just wanted to entertain her while giving myself time to think.

The second movie knocks her out. I can hear her snoring softly as Humphrey Bogart tell Claude Rains, "Louie, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

I let her sleep while I pick up the bowls, pausing for a moment to stroke one of her cheeks with the back of my hand. How could anything so adorable become the monster as depicted in the show? Yeah, I think there was a lot they glossed over in an effort to give the idea of her life.

Boy, did they ever give her life!

By the time I'm done doing my usual cleanup, the new routine I've seemed to have acquired since Chrysalis showed up in my life, it's time to make supper. While making popcorn, I had pulled some hamburger patties from the freezer and let them thaw out while we watched the second movie. Two patties are now sizzling on the frying pan, making the crackling hiss associated with cooking meat. I don't have lettuce or tomatoes or onions to cut up, but I do have slices of American cheese. As I like my burgers a little rare sometimes, I decide to go that route with Chrysalis' burger as well. I feel a tug at my pant leg and look down.

There she is, looking up at me.

And she's hungry.

The third and final movie we watch that evening is the only movie my ex didn't take that was intended for my daughter; Sleeping Beauty.

I'll take a moment right now to thank my mom, where ever she is, for showing sometimes the old flicks are the best flicks ever made.

We're having our hamburgers (Chryssie opts out of cheese for hers) and watching one of the greatest animated movies of all time and it absolutely leaves the filly filled with awe and wonder. She's really getting into the story of the princess, the three good fairies looking after her, the prince, and the black witch, Malificent. I actually find myself holding my breath, suddenly wondering if showing her this movie was such a good idea. I mean, here was one of the most beautifully crafted animated villains ever to grace the silver screen for any animated film and Chrysalis watched everything she did carefully, even leaning forward in rapt attention.

When the villainess turned into the purple and black dragon (the best ever made, by the way), Chryssie gave out a little shriek and was trying to wedge herself between me and the couch. All I could see was her little butt and her tail and her back legs as she tried to bury herself. I had no idea that part would scare her like that.

"Hey! Hey!" I'm digging her out and setting her on my lap. "Nothing's going to happen! See? It's not real. It's like the other movies, it's just a story, Chryssie."

Yeah, I notice it at this point, too. I'm calling her Chryssie.

She relaxes a bit, even giving a little triumphant stamp of her hoof when the prince hurls the sword and impales Malificent, killing the dragon.

Again, I'm cleaning up after the movie, putting things away. Chryssie follows me around. I know she wants to help, but there's very little she can really do. Besides, I'm mentally exhausted and I'm convinced more than ever she's been feeding off my emotions. It's not eve nine o'clock and I'm already feeling my bed calling to me. I really want to figure out how she does that, if I can. I get ready for bed and she watches me up to the point where I'm changing my clothes. I pointedly set her outside my room and close the door and tell her to give me a minute to change. The whole time I'm changing, she's scraping at the door with her hooves and making little whimpering sounds.

"I'm not going to change in front of you!" I say through a laugh.

The scraping continues as I drop my jeans and step out of them. It's like listening to a toddler trying to communicate through sound instead of words. I've heard her speak one word with her own voice so far. Now I'm hearing her first sentence.

"Want in!" she begins to wail.

I'm hopping into my sweats. "You'll wait like a good girl."

"Want in!" she cries out, a bit louder.

I'm taking off my shirt and reaching for the one I sleep in. "Patience, Chryssie."

"WANT IN!" Chrysalis shrieks.

I go over and fling the door open, tugging on it harder than I remember needing to before, more amused at her outburst. I stare down, ready to pick her up when I notice her horn is glowing fiercely. It fades quickly and she looks abashed, again hanging her head and looking away.

"What did you do?" I ask her.

She won't look at me, but I see her eyes flicker to the door I'm holding open. I look in the direction her focus is set on, at the bottom of the door. I kneel, not believing exactly what it is I'm staring at. Oh, everything's intact and all, but there's one teeny-tiny problem.

The wood is warped, as if something had been pushing it in.

"Sowwy," I can hear her whisper with a sniffle.

Yay me. I have a lot of work cut out for me.

Inconceivable!

Part III

It's Monday morning. I don't have to go to work until noon and the store closes at nine, so I've got a long afternoon and evening ahead of me. I had the dream again. Rather, the nightmare. Every soldier who has felt the sting of battle, surrounded by death and screaming and all sorts of noises does, to some degree remember those moments. Some can go through life and be bothered far less than others who fear it so much they are terrified to go to bed at night. I've never had a night terror, but I have woken up plenty of times in a cold sweat, remembering that day and the distortions the dreaming does to it. Some things are more vivid than others when you dream. For me, it's the face of the kid I shoot bursting around the corner of a building and spraying at the guy next to me with a machine gun half his size. I don't think and I'm just reacting, the simple act of pressing the trigger back and staying on target forever scarring my mind.

Yeah, I know I probably saved my life as much as the life of the guy just shot, but you don't forget the faces of people you kill at close range. You just don't. Young, old, man, or woman, they stick to you and follow you forever. Carrying the past with you is the burden all humans bear, but it's how we carry them that counts. Mine happens to leave a scar on my own sense of self-worth.

I think my burden was too much for me to keep my family intact. It's like something within me died that day, the part that gave a damn about what happened to me. I told a psychiatrist once I felt as though my sense of deserving anything even remotely resembling happiness was forever denied me because I murdered a kid trying to murder me. I was told that was perfectly normal, was smiled at, and was told to try and certain exercises.

Killing is killing. You're ending a life. It's as simple as that. Isn't there a commandment saying you shouldn't kill another human being? Why can't we live by that? Are our opinions so vastly different that we need to kill another person to get what we want? Oh, sure, you can throw whatever excuse you want to justify giving someone the gift of death. Hell, some of them even ask for it. Despite what people might think of me, a part of me died that day.

Well, maybe die is too strong a word. But I did lose it. I can't feel it. Maybe I just lost interest or it lost interest in me. Did I lose my desire to care? Was it my desire to fight for something I needed? Or was it something I wanted? The doctors at the VA always insist I take some pills for my PTSD and have me go in once every month or two for an evaluation. It's the same questions. They don't help and I can't afford the gas to drive a hundred miles both ways only to be told by some expert to keep taking my pills.

What a joke.

Did I forget to mention my ex pointed out one of the reasons for leaving me was my mental unbalance? Somehow she got a hold of some confidential information in regards to the tests they conducted on me while I recovered in Germany. I think the new boyfriend had something to do with that, but I'm not about to start banging on the drum of paranoia on that. I feel I'm in a hole that will only get deeper if I try to do anything to see my daughter. Even my mom took the ex's side. A court order granting her full custody of my daughter had somehow been fast tracked within a week after she finally decided to pack up and leave me. I honestly don't know if it's a battle I can win, should I chose to fight. I think that has been beaten out of me.

Maybe I am going crazy.

Yay me.

Chrysalis stirs next to my head. She's warm, soft. One of her hooves is draped across my mouth and she stretches, yawning and adjusting herself. She snuggles closer to my neck, not wanting to wake up quite yet. It's a nice change from the way yesterday morning started. I don't have to move to see the clock is a few minutes shy of seven in the morning. It's kind of weird having a creature with lots of features you'd find on a bug actually have a warm and soft body, save for the carapace on her back. I find I'm rather enjoying having her with me. She's shifted her chin and its on my chest now, the hoof shifting from my mouth to across my throat. her little crooked horn is all I can really see as I don't want to disturb her.

I wonder at that moment how long it will take before she's too big to do this, or if even she'll be around that long. I'm suddenly thinking there is a very good chance I'll lose her much like I lost everything else in my life. With my left hand, I seek out and find the top of her head just behind her horn and knead my fingers gently through her tangled bed head hair and on her skull. She responds by pushing her head into my hand and I can see an emerald eye pop up and focus on me with a wink. I can't see her other eye because of her profile, but it seems like a wink to me. The next thing I know, Chrysalis is shifting herself so she can move her muzzle to my nose and greet me with a little nudge. The filly buzzes her wings as she comes to full wakefulness, shaking out her mane out and yawning. Slithering off my chest, she half crawls and half pushes herself over the edge until I can hear all four hooves land. She trots out the door and I assume towards the bathroom. I had put a step ladder in there yesterday so she could use the toilet.

I hope she remembers to flush. I really hope she doesn't miss.

She does remember and returns. By now I've moved to my side and I'm propping my head on an elbow, watching for her to return.

My eyes shift to the warped bottom half of my bedroom door, the victim of a tempter tantrum I interrupted before she could splinter the wood. I made her sit in a corner for fifteen minutes while I more or less assumed a cross legged position in front of the damaged door and stared at it in amazement. It's like she was trying to just push the door open by sheer force of her magic, not even thinking to simply turn the knob on the door. There's no lock on the door. I don't think she's figured out doors have doorknobs on them yet. I'd like to know how the door was able to do that without splintering. I can see the cracks in it, but why could I not hear the wood splinter?

I guess there's a lot in the application of magic I have no clue about and her understanding is only slightly better than mine. Chryslais is entering the door now, a happy little grin on her still sleepy face. Not as wakeful as I first thought, I note dryly. It was probably the urgency she was feeling that perked her up out of necessity. The decision to get up hasn't been finalized yet and I just stretch while she tries to hop up into bed with me. This time, she whines a little and hops, the top of her head and horn visible. Rolling forward, I rest my chin on the edge of the bed.

"Want up here?" I ask, assuming a rather plain expression.

"Up!" she tells me.

"Are you going to use your magic again?" I ask suspiciously, pointing at the door.

She looks over her shoulder at it, then back at me, abashed. "Nooooo," she replies, drawing the word out. I know she's lying. It's in the tone of her little voice and the guilty little way she's saying no.

"Promise?"

"Yes!" She's flinging her hooves at me, ears perked forward and eyes alight with joy.

No, I am not going to make a changeling make a Pinkie Promise. What do you think I am? Sadistic? Besides, I can never remember the lines. I've only seen the episode once or twice.

I pick her up, roll on my back and I've got her hovering over my body, arms locked up, my hands holding her by the chest and belly. Chryssie kicks in the air, squealing happily as I drop her to me, bop her on the end of her snout with my nose.

"Boop!"

I push her up into the air. The princess flails her legs wide, shrieking with utter delight at the game, her little mane flopping with the up and down movements of her body. I repeat it again, give her another boop on the nose. Then another. Once more for good measure!

By God, I think I've completely forgotten the nightmare now. The giggling changeling is now in my lap as I've sat up and I'm getting ready to get the day started. Setting her down on the ground, I get up, gather my clothes I'm going to wear and head for the bathroom for my shower. This is probably the only time of day I'm sober. I can already feel the withdrawls. I shower, telling Chryssie to not blow up any doors (I'm nice about it). I think while under the hot water, not noticing the door has quietly opened until it squeaks wide and I feel it thump against the stopper at the baseboard. I peek around the shower curtain, that music from Psycho playing in the back of my head. Only, I don't have Norman Bates in a dress and a wig holding a kitchen knife. This is much, much cuter.

Chryssie is staring up at me, sitting on the floor and under the cloud of hot steam from the running water. "No broke door!" she chirps at me happily.

Okay, she just figured out doorknobs. "Hello, sweetie," I say to her warily. "How did you get in?"

It's one of those stupid question stupid adults ask when they already know the answer. I think they call it a rhetorical question. Correct me if I'm wrong. Kids will and do often figure things out they're not supposed to figure out. Why? Because stupid adults assume kids are going to learn at a given pace instead of using their brains to figure out two plus two does not equal 'you'll know when I tell you'. Honestly, it's a doorknob, so I shouldn't have been surprised. She's seen me use them. I should not be at all surprised she's in here, staring at me with those huge and currently unblinking eyes.

"Door," she says, pointing at it with wide-eyed innocence. A raspberry is blown at me and she smiles, proud of herself for figuring out the magic of opening doors...with her magic.

Yeah, I really need to get her to start forming full, cognitive sentences.

There's nothing I can really do now, she's in here, she's staring, and all I've got to preserve my modesty is the plastic protection of a flimsy shower curtain. As I really don't want a toddler seeing me sans clothing (that's just wrong, even if the toddler in question is of equine build). "Go wait in the hallway, Chryssie," I tell her firmly.

Her ears droop, her happy little face falling a little. "No want to be alone," she says to me, just loudly enough to be heard over the shower.

"I'm just taking a shower, Chryssie." I laugh, clutching the curtain tightly. She does not look like she's going to be leaving any time soon. I should have put a movie in for her, I'm thinking right now or give her something to distract her while I get ready. I'm also thinking with approaching dread I'm going to have to leave her alone in the house while I work.

I was having an image of a crater where my house once sat after a certain changeling throws a tantrum. It's not a pretty picture, but at least in my head it's animated. I cringe inwardly, sigh and try to think that one out in the few minutes I've got left to think before Chryssie decides the curtain is too much of an obstacle between herself and me.

I hurry up, turn the water off and reach for a towel.

The princess whimpers impatiently.

"Don't do this to me," I take a quick moment to pull the curtain aside and plead at the little dark form. "I only have the one bathroom."

It's beginning to occur to me she needs to be sociable because of what and who she is. As I'm wrapping my head around that simple realization, she's hopped up on the toilet lid and is trying to nose around the edge of the shower curtain. I see her little shadow appear and the edge pushed, the dark muzzle appearing...

"Chryssie, no!"

I've got my towel around me quick and she's staring up at me. Her head withdraws upon seeing my shocked expression, herself shocked at my shock. There's a crash as she slips off the toilet in her haste, her hooves slipping on the condensation from the steam. I can hear the trash can fall over, the aluminum metal making a loud noise, which in turn startles Chrysalis even more. She's yelping, her hooves scrambling as she tries to right herself. By now, I'm watching her, seeing her backside as she runs from the bathroom, turning with skidding, clattering steps and doing a very good impersonation of a stampede of rhinoceroses. She slides left, towards the bedroom, the garbage can bouncing and spinning in her wake at the door.

I'm laughing my ass off the whole time.

I finish drying off, dress quickly and go to find the little princess. She's under my bed, her green eyes glowing emeralds in her agitation. It's not hard to coax her out. Privacy is going to be one of those things we'll just have to work out, mostly from her end at this stage. Because her temper is going to fuel her magic, and it doesn't take a genius to figure that one out, I'm going to have to be very careful when setting the boundaries. I realize she's a filly and she has a need to be with somebody she thinks she can trust (in this case, me). She's probably still not aware of where she is, nor who she is. But, this seems different.

For one thing, there was no box and no little note or instruction book on how to care for your love-sucking future queen. Even the show was vague, as I mentioned earlier. I've got theories. Based on the fanfictions I've read, everybody has a theory on changelings. This could very well turn out badly if everything goes to hell in a hand basket. I could get rid of her, but why? It's not her fault she's here on Earth, is it? Considering she is here, and I have been thinking about this since she arrived in the middle of a storm, was she sent or was this some magical experiment gone terribly wrong?

Or was she intended to come here? Was she meant to be placed with a broken man who's pretty much done everything he could to shut out the world?

I don't know. At this point, does it really matter? I've got a child who looks to me for care and comfort and teaching. I've got...what do I have?

She's no pet, that's for sure.

A daughter?

Okay, that's even strange just thinking about. With all due respect to the guy who raised Rainbow Dash, brother you did not have a changeling. You, sir raised a lovely and awesome chromatic pegasus everyone knows and loves and follows religiously (you fanatics know who you are, don't deny it). I, on the other hand, just inherited the responsibility of raising the cutest living bomb on the planet. I would like to say I'm exaggerating, but at this point, I really don't know what a changeling queen is capable of other than mimicking my voice, warping my door, and - according to the show - infiltrating magical castles by replacing another princess and imitating her in both speech and appearance while preparing for a wedding while the aforementioned castle is "under threat". I like the two part story arc, but gaps...good lord, the gaps! Keep in mind Chrysalis had enough power to outduel the Sun Goddess Princess Celestia.

So yeah, Chrysalis a freaking living bomb living under my roof.

Yay me.

Either way, I've still not made up my mind about her. She is impossibly cute as a filly. I feel compelled to care for her, and I don't mean because she's trying to influence me. All kids try to influence those they identify as their caretakers through emotions and expressing their wants and needs. This little thing on my lap vying for my attention as I try to watch the news is no different. We've already had breakfast and she can tell I've been lost in my thoughts. I consider getting the internet hooked back up, thinking I'm going to have to find a way to educate her, teach her about this world.

Maybe teach her about Equestria?

I don't know at this point about that. Would you want to show a filly three seasons worth of other ponies while the changeling sitting on your lap basically had screen time in her natural form for just half an episode? How would she identify with that? How would she understand it?

As for the father issue, I think I'll let her decide if that's what she wants me to be. Right now I need to weigh the options of taking her with me or leaving her here while I go to work. If she comes with me, I'm taking the car. I'd love to see her reaction to a car ride. Hell, it's not really much of a decision. Chrysalis is too young to leave in the house by herself. Then there's that image of the crater I envisioned in the shower.

Okay, okay, you guys flapping your arms in the air and screaming, "How can you call yourself a casual fan if you claim to have only seen the episodes a couple of times, but have all this knowledge?" The answer is simple, my good friends. One word, actually.

Internet. You're welcome.

Seriously, I am a casual fan. I don't get into the muddled details of head canons of other people all that much. I do like reading stories and a few online friends suggested I start checking out the show and its characters. Having a daughter living with me at the time, I felt I wanted to find something for her to watch when she got older. Most of the current shows are crap. In my opinion, they're just there to turn brains into mindless mush. I know they're aimed at a very young group and all, but I want to be able to enjoy a show with my kid. It's called bonding. I never wanted to end up like my parents, divorced at that time of my life.

How's that for irony?

Long story short, I tend to research things to a certain point before making a final decision of my every-changing opinion of things. I had already decided My Little Pony would be a good show to get my daughter and watch with her on my free time, but we've already covered what happened since, haven't we? I haven't watched the show since and as I just thought of getting internet again, I've been without for quite a while and that was by choice. If I give up drinking, I can afford it.

Considering alcohol and children don't mix, I am not going to choose inebriation over the well being of a child. By now, I am looking at her as not an animal, but as a child. A toddler with four hooves and fangs. And magic with possibly an obscene amount of power behind it. Yeah, that prospect scares the living hell out of me. But it's one of those things guys get a hold of, know it's like some sort of adrenaline rush they can't live with out and just go with it.

Guilty.

I get ready for work, we have lunch after spending the morning watching the television. I really don't think the gas station is going to be much of a problem for Chrysalis. First of all, she's small. Secondly, the owner's cat is also black, so if someone happens to see Chryssie, they'll think she's...

...eh, I don't think so, either.

She's going anyways. There's a little bed for the cat under the counter she can stay in. The place isn't really that busy and I know when the regulars show up. There's the occasional lost traveler who took the wrong turn off the main highway and needs to be pointed in the right direction. I might see all of ten people on any given day in a ten hour shift. I normally go to the diner for lunch. The people knew my grandparents and they like me, even feeling sorry for me when my ex left with Crystal. They're always offering me a bowl of soup on the house. I'll sometimes take them up on the offer, but that's on days when the owner decides he wants to hang around because he really doesn't have anything better to do.

I suppose there are other choices available to me, but I can't think of them at the moment. Chrysalis is coming with me to work. Even if someone asks, I suppose I can tell them she's some sort of...

...crap, there's nothing on the whole damn planet even remotely looking like a changeling.

I don't think she cares for the way I'm looking at her right now. Standing on her hind hooves while on my lap, she lays her ears back, eyes flat as she gives me another raspberry while nose to nose with me. I'll admit was giving her an odd look, so I take her forehooves and hold them up, swinging them back and forth. She laughs, her wings buzzing and buzzing. I'm laughing with her. I'm feeling good about myself. I haven't felt that in a long time.

I don't want it to end.

"Do you want to come to work with me?" I ask her, stopping our game.

"Work?" she squeaks my voice back at me.

I scratch her between the ears. Her eyes close blissfully, mouth slightly hanging open as her tongue lolls out a little. "Yeah, I've got to make money so I can afford to feed you, you little glutton."

"What money?" she asks, tilting her head in that way I'm finding adorable.

"Money is a way to buy things so we can live comfortably," I reply, wondering if that might have been too simplistic.

"Work hard?" comes her second question, her head tilting the other way.

"No, not really. It's boring." This is very true. I've got the cleanest convenience store in the state since that's all I do between customers. That and reorganize the shelves. I think Twilight Sparkle would approve the way I keep the place tidy and organized. "But I'll have you to keep me company, so long as you're good and behave."

Chrysalis beams at me and promptly licks my face repeatedly. I think she knew I had been wrestling with leaving her or having her come with me. She'd been quiet since the shower incident and I've had these little tingling sensations in my mind, sort of like a light tapping. I really can't describe it visually save for if Chryssie were to be sitting right in front of you and batting an earlobe with one of her hooves ever so slightly. You have to pay attention to notice it.

Clever girl.

I even ask her if she's reading my mind. Her answer is an ashamed sigh, casting her eyes down at my chest. "I sowwy," she mumbles. "Just feels."

There's going to be no avoiding that. Somehow she's linked herself to my mind and she's trying to figure out how to 'connect'. I'm wondering if it's a hive mentality or something akin to that. I stroke her cheek, giving in. "That's okay, Chryssie. There's a lot about you I don't know and can even begin to understand."

Hell, maybe it might speed up her education.

Or ruin it. There are a lot of dark places in my head I don't want her to see. I already know she can sense and feel my emotions and what I'm feeling. I know she's feeding off my positive emotions and I think I'm developing an attachment to her. No, I am developing one. Still not sure on the love. I care about her well being and I care about her happiness, but this is just the start of my second full day with her. There is a long, long road ahead for the both of us, should the world decide to allow it.

Of course, there's Murphy's Law. Anything that can go wrong will go wrong. I just hope Mr. Murphy gives us time to be... a family? I'm still trying to wrap my head around that concept. It's too surreal.

"Too much," she suddenly blurts, tapping my head with a hoof. I can feel her withdraw from my head suddenly. I think I just went through a whole crapload of emotional turmoil her little mind was not ready for. I get a headache from the sudden departure. It's bad enough I'm combating the shakes.

I tough it out, grab my keys and my new working buddy, and head for the barn where I housed the car.

I never mentioned it, did I? Mostly because the driveway doesn't go up to the back of the house where the old barn it ends at can be seen. It's located more to the front side of the house and to the left facing it. It's not a big barn; only for about six horses back in the day. About thirty years ago grandpa got rid of his horses and turned the barn into some sort of a workshop. There's an old 1965 Mustang resting beneath a heavy canvas that hasn't been seen in a decade. I looked at it once. It's about half restored. All the parts are scattered about the place, but I'm no mechanic. I don't want to sell it, either. It was my grandpa's.

My car isn't really all that spectacular. My magnificent horseless carriage is a rusted, sun-blotched 1985 Chevrolet Cavalier wagon backed neatly into the barn with plenty of room on both sides. Once, it had a nice gray color to it. Once it had nice upholstery. It still runs decently. There's a nice long crack running down the center of the windshield. Other than that, it runs imperfectly.

Chrysalis eyes it with trepidation, having trotted after me on her little hooves. The expression she gives me is, You're kidding, right? Please tell me you're kidding. We're riding in that? It's followed up by a whimper.

"It's perfectly safe," I say with a shrug. "Nothing to worry about."

She's clearly not convinced or impressed with either the car or me. Plopping squarely on her rump, she's shaking her head violently.

It occurs to me. I note loudly, "This will be your first car ride."

She hisses at the car, then gives me a pleading look, coming over and butting her head against my leg, keeping me between herself and the evil gray rusty thing on four wheels. I jingle my keys and go to the driver's side door, opening it and sliding onto the seat. I fasten my seatbelt and put the key in the ignition. I start the car.

The little princess jumps in the air and back, landing on hooves spread in an aggressive little stance, her rump in the air and her neck bent as she growls with flat eyes and a glowing horn. Her wings are buzzing intensely. I find I'm feeling her fear. Not just seeing it, but feeling it!

I reprimand her. "No!" Holding a hand out to her, I wait. I also should have expected her to react this way. The truck from yesterday should have been an indication. "This is just a means of transportation. It's easier than walking, Chryssie. Come on, get in. Don't be such a baby."

Her eyes dart about, unsure of herself. Chrysalis relaxes, the filly straightening herself. She simpers again, puffing out her cheeks repeatedly. With slow, hesitant steps, she starts towards me, one hoof at a time. Seeing the car is not eating me (I'm assuming that's what she thought) and satisfied I'm not being chewed on, she's now sniffing at my had as if she's trying to take my pulse, or something.

"Safe?" she queries in her own voice.

"Yes."

She lets me pick her up. I set her on my lap. Instinctively, she has to stand her front hooves on the steering wheel and peer out the windshield, her eyes huge and curious. Gently I pull her away and set her in the back seat. Chrysalis starts sniffing around, her wings making me think I have a giant bee in the car. I put the car in drive and slowly ease of the brake. "We're moving," I call to the back. "You'd better sit down, Chryssie."

I accelerate, my foot slowly pushing the gas pedal. Behind me, I hear the sound of a flopping body and feel something bump firmly into the back of my seat followed by a startled yelp.

"I warned you." To be fair, I should have checked to make she she was seated. I immediately felt like a bully for doing that to a filly.

The rear view mirror shows a pair of emerald eyes slitted at me as if I had done that on purpose. "Not fun!" she complains, minding herself a seat this time. She leans forward slowly, supporting herself on the small center console arm rest. I may have pressed the pedal a little harder than intended. She's suspecting my actions had less than innocent implications behind them and those large harlequin eyes are letting me know it right now as she gives me another raspberry.

We get to work with little incident, the little changeling peering out the window with a curiosity overcoming her fear. She discovers riding in the car is actually sort of fun, though the trip takes just a few minutes. Two miles isn't really much of a distance by car. I park on the side of the gas station where I normally park, grab my mechanic shirt with my name tag sewn on to the breast. I don't bother buttoning it up or tucking it in until I get inside, using the shirt to keep Chrysalis hidden from the few onlookers who might be bothered to glance in my direction. It's a nice, lazy town, but it's also a dying one. There are quite a few shuttered businesses in the lone main road cutting through the tiny town of Owen.

Once inside, I smuggle a changeling princess who keeps staring at me with those big, trusting eyes and get behind the counter and tell her to stay under there as I put her in the empty cat bed. Chryssie sits, stares up at me and smiles, her two little fangs gleaming. Kneeling, I give her a little peck on the muzzle, make her promise to be quiet and be a good girl. I go to work.

Which means cleaning the same things over and over. I don't get my first customer until an hour after I get started. During that time, I sneak my little guest some things to snack on, a few treats, nothing too sugary or fattening as the store's goods would allow. I write them down on a list I leave for my boss, who deducts any snacking I do off of my paycheck. I've never cheated the guy and he was my grandpa's good friend. He doesn't care for my drinking, but it's never gotten me in a position to where I've broken his trust.

He actually comes in, having been in the adjacent garage and working on somebody's car. The old man is in his seventies and he can still turn a wrench. This means he's working on an older car. His eyes are on me almost immediately. More specifically, my shaking hands.

"No drinking?" he asks, placing a firm grip on my upper arm as his way of saying hello. I'm currently mopping the floor, so instead of the usual handshake, he just puts that vice grip on my bicep. He grins.

"Trying to quit drinking," I say honestly. I'm also hearing little hooves clopping together somewhere under the counter. I think. My imagination?

He's surprised. "Oh? Well, that's good to hear, son! That's very good to hear." The old man is very pleased. "None of my business to ask, but would you mind humoring an old man and telling me why?"

"I really can't explain it," I reply with a helpless smile. Would you be able to? "But it seems the best thing for me to do right now. Maybe it's time I tried to do something positive with my life. I don't know. It's something I have to do."

"I reckon that's about as good an answer as any man can give. Hear anything about your little girl, Mike?" He avoids mentioning the ex by name.

"Nothing I'm ready to talk about yet, sir." No, I don't want to talk about it. I know the old guy means well, but there are some things I'm just not willing to talk openly about. I'm really a private person.

We converse a bit, talking about the storm from the other night, mostly. I was surprised when I was told it never showed up on the radar. But the whole town was drenched by that storm and it seemed to linger through the night. It was supposed to have just been a rain shower, not a heavy thunderstorm. The front was weak and should have brought only the rain. So where did that storm come from? It had been the talk of the town all Sunday. I'd missed it because of a certain little filly named Chrysalis. They tried calling me, but my phone line was down, knocked out by the storm. Ground strikes had taken out all the phone lines in and around town and blew out all the transformers. The county had just now restored them as I was getting to work.

I still had power. Of course, the power lines feeding the town go by my house. Past that is the first transformer. I'm no expert on how they distribute the power, but I'm assuming at that point of the conversation and even voice my observation. It seems logical. My boss agrees. He tells me he's got other things to do and reminds me to lock up before I leave in seven hours. Wishing me luck with my cessation, he departs for the day, leaving me to mind the store as the afternoon wears on.

I go back to mopping. I feel little hooves wrap around one of my legs. I pause, smile, and look down at Chryssie. She's wanting attention again. My little princess is bored. Her little wings flutter and she whines. Grinning, the mop is set aside and I pick her up. She's been a very good girl. There's a pitiful little toy section in the store, exactly two feet wide and four feed tall at the end of one of the aisles. I find a squeaky toy, a little football and give it a squeak.

Chrysalis loves it. With a huge open grin and round eyes, she takes it in her hooves and starts squeezing it between them. The squeaking begins and I immediately regret giving it to her. It'll probably occupy her for a little bit, but I've got to finish my mopping and go measure the tanks. Reminding Chrysalis to be good and she can have the toy, under the counter she goes and the little football squeaks away. The last thing I see before I resume my mopping of the little filly is her happily chewing on the thing with this adorably mindless look of contentment on her. The squeaking goes on for a good fifteen minutes. Endlessly. It's worse than getting your kid something that requires batteries.

Sighing at myself for being dumb enough to give her the only distracting thing I could think of, I check on her one more time before I go outside to measure the tanks. As I do so, I see the boss's cat Mr. Whiskers slink by lazily. He's lean black and gray tabby tom cat and comes and goes as he pleases. I don't mind cats and had even considered getting one for a time. The cat looks at me indifferently, his tail twitching behind him as he goes through the open front door. It never occurs to me there's still a filly inside as I'm still hearing the toy make its infamous noise.

I'm putting the measuring stick away, having made a mental note to write down only the unleaded tank had gone down some. As I go to the door, I realize Chryssie is no longer playing with her football. I don't think I was gone for more than ten minutes. Usually, Mr. Whiskers is napping in his cat bed. Unfortunately, as I soon discovered, Mr. Whiskers met Chrysalis.

Somehow, she had pounced on the poor cat, maybe using that mental ability of hers or whatever, but I see she's just put the animal in a green cocoon just under the cash register and on the floor. The world freezes as I stare at the wide and terrified eyes of a cat trying to get out of whatever the hell Chrysalis just put him in. In the meantime, there's another cat - looking just like Mr. Whiskers - smiling smugly up at me with glowing harlequin eyes.

Three things: Firstly, Chrysalis is very proud of what she did and is even preening herself at her accomplishment. She probably thought the cat was hunting her and reacted accordingly. Maybe it was the other way around. I don't know. I was not there to see how everything ended up in this little calamity before me. Secondly, I totally missed her first transformation from changeling into something not her natural form. My heart fell a little bit as I realized this was a first I would not be a witness to. Lastly, the old man is going to kill me if he finds out an alien creature under my care just entrapped his cat with a semi-transparent substance I can't even begin to identify.

She knows I'm not happy. I'm covering my face with both hands and saying, "No, no, no, no, no," and a whole lot of 'nos' after that. I take a deep breath and look to see if anyone is coming. Rushing to the front door, I peek outside.

Here comes the old man.

Yay me.

I make a strangled noise, arms flailing as I disappear inside.

"I do bad?" Chryssie asks me when I'm looking down at her, my eyes wide as I try to think. Okay, there's a changeling in the form of a cat talking to me. I know it's Chrysalis, but I'll be damned if that isn't the damnedest thing I've ever seen!

"No, honey, you did what your instincts told you to do," I tell her. "Now let him out for me, please?"

"Why?" she asks, confused. Chryssie brightens, points a hoof and the cat I know is yowling, but the cocoon is completely muffling his meows. "Dinner!"

"Baby, that cat belongs to my boss," I say patiently, feeling a little sick at her suggestion we eat Mr. Whiskers. "Please let him go. For me?"

I hear the boss calling my name. He's seconds from stepping through the threshold.

Chryssie smiles up at me, masking her obvious disappointment. "Okay." Her horn glows and the cocoon thing literally turns to goo and melts away from the cat. Mr. Whiskers, in obvious shock from his ordeal, scrambles to his feet and is off like a black streak of panic, darts between the boss's legs just as he enters.

He's staring at the direction his cat just went, having nearly tripping over the running feline wearing a scowl and shaking his head. "What's up with my cat?" he asks me, perplexed and scratching his balding head as he approaches the counter.

I'm beginning to notice the remnants of the cocoon has a rather gross smell to it, like sweet vomit. It's curling my toes and even Chrysalis is trying to shy away from it, a little hoof over her nostrils. I think quickly as my boss' nostrils catch the none-too-pleasing odor.

"What is that god-awful stink?" he demands.

"Mr. Whiskers threw up," I lie, going around the counter to get the mop bucket. The old man blinks, not sure if my answer seems plausible. I point at the spot where the green mass is, take a gamble and add, "Want to see it? It's an amazing look at what he's had to eat today. I think there's a mouse here."

"Eh, no thanks. I came because I forgot my car keys. Remembered I left them here after I had some pie at the diner." He makes a gesture at me. "Are they by the register? Ah, there there are! By the bobble head doll. Could you hand them to me?"

I do so, happy to please. It would also be a good idea if he leaves before asking more questions or comes around the counter and sees something most definitely not Mr. Whiskers lying on the bed down there.

He pauses, a little abashed. "I'm sorry about the cat. I should clean it up."

"Don't worry about it, sir. I can handle it," I assure him with my best smile.

He peers at me suspiciously. "So this is you sober, eh?"

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" I ask, wondering if there was something I should be worried about. As it turns out, it's a good thing.

"I could grow to like it. This new old you is more like the kid I remember. Keep it up." He waves his keys at me and trundles out the door, pinching his nose on the way out. The smell is pretty ripe.

I spend the next hour cleaning, using a liberal amount of bleach and about five fresh buckets of mop water before the stuff is cleaned up and the smell is reduced to something. The whole time, I'm hearing a half-hearted squeak of a chew toy every minute or so, making a mournful little sound every time Chrysalis bites into it. I peer down at her. She stays in the cat bed, dejected as once again, she thinks she's done something wrong. During my conversation with my boss, she had reverted to her natural form and looked adorably pitiful. Every once in a while, every fourth or fifth squeak of her toy, I would hear her sniffle.

I'm not really in a rush to comfort her. Let her think about what she did. I'd talk to her about it when we get home in five hours.

She lies there quietly the rest of the day, very quiet and ignoring my little offers of snacks, looking away from my hand and curling up into a tight little ball. Every time I do steal a glance at her when not doing something, she's got an eye on me, never blinking. It's a little sad, as if she knows she's getting a scolding when we get home.

You can only let things go for so long before you have to put your foot down. I thought she was too young to worry about certain boundaries and I would like to refer to the comment I made earlier in regards to stupid adults. I'm feeling like a jackass right now and the feeling persists even though I fake pleasantries with my regulars and greet a couple of faces just passing through. I restock what little was sold that day and count the drawer down at closing time. I make the meager deposit into the safe and finish up cleaning. It doesn't take long as I'm reduced to just doing a final sweep and getting the register ready for the next day. Finally, with little left to do than shut off the lights and lock the doors, I beckon Chrysalis to come out from under the counter.

"Let's go home, Chryssie," I say to her with a gentle smile. She's in my arms, wanting affection, but the memory of earlier still lingering on her little visage. Cradling her in the crook of my left arm, I turn off the lights, shake out my keys, and go out to lock the doors.

We go home and we do have a one-sided talk. I was going to have to establish the rules early if we were going to have any chance of getting her to survive the world.

We never did see Mr. Whiskers ever again, by the way.

Author's Note

Eh, I think I might have missed a few things with the quick edit. If anyone spots anything wonky, please feel free to point it out to me. Thanks!

Part IV

I found a baby book intended for my daughter but was forgotten with everything going on in my life. You could say it found me when I came across it while clearing out one of the upstairs bedrooms in a box with a few other baby items that never saw use. I'll go through them later and see if there's anything else I can let Chrysalis use. Eventually she's going to want her own room, I'm thinking and I want to prepare one for her. Giving her age, I imagine it won't be long before she'll want her own slice of privacy (assuming she behaves like a human). I let her come up with me and she watches me while I move stuff from that room into either the attic or one of the other upstairs rooms. It's already furnished with a guest bed and a dresser, but I want Chryssie to have it.

I apologize if I'm all over the place. I haven't been this excited or energized or happy for a very long time, so please forgive me if this part of the story bounces around like Pinkie Pie on a sugar rush.

Back to the baby book! I was sad at first when I saw it laying there on top of the box, there in the corner. It was supposed to be for newborns. In a way, the changeling poking her head under an arm and blocking my view of the first page is a newborn.

Or was she reborn?

The book is a blank slate, I'm thinking, a new beginning, maybe for both of us. I want to escape my past. I find I want to help Chrysalis discover her new future. Even if I don't think I deserve a second chance, I'm not going to deny her this one somehow presented before her. Of course, I'm again assuming a lot from one episode. I paused in my cleanings, tucked the book in one hand and balancing the changeling princess on my shoulders with the other. We go downstairs to the living room, sit on the couch and spread the book out on the coffee table. I find a pencil and begin on the first page, telling the curious little princess next to me exactly what I'm doing. She seems very interested. I begin writing in it.

Name: Chrysalis

Sex: It's a Girl! (there's a couple of boxes I can check, one with 'It's a Boy!')

Date of Birth: August 30

Weight: 15 lbs.

Time of birth: 2230 hrs

Name of Doctor Delivering: Mother Nature

That was enough for now, I think. I had to guess her weight and time she arrived, and I'm only accusing Mother Nature because my little Chryssie showed up in the middle of a dark and stormy night...

...the minute I think that, I'm laughing at the cliche.

Since I started that book, I've been diligently been writing in the little log that's in its pages. It's not very thick, so I dig up a relatively unused notebook - several, actually - and put them in a box to keep everything together. I also think this would be a neat momento box for lots of firsts that weren't too disgusting. The stuff I knew I could not keep would find over time their way into the burn pile at the furthest corner of the property.

Like moltings.

It started with her slowly losing interest in eating, her eyes becoming to look glazed and foggy. I didn't notice it at first for the first few days, but the signs were there. Chrysalis could never get comfortable, could not concentrate on the lessons of reading and writing I would try to teach her. Her grasp of magic became erratic and after accidentally bending a couple of spoons and forks at the dinner table, I had to tell the mournful little lady not to use it. I was becoming worried, thinking she was sick. Chrysalis became irritable, hissing a lot at me, only to butt her head against me apologetically.

"Too tight," she told me mournfully, squirming restlessly. "Too hot!"

She had been doing as well as could be expected following the rules we had established. Though she hated being left home alone, I promised to come home and had to do that for a couple of days while she anxiously pleaded with me to not leave her alone. I would leave the house those few days leaving a wailing toddler banging on the door of the house. I held my breath each time as I could hear her shrieking in a tearful voice, "No go!"

It was the most painful guilt trip I had ever experienced. But I could not risk taking her to work with me. That had become a near disaster and I really was not in a mood for a repeat performance.

I had also taken the beers in the fridge and put them in the barn. Before going to work, I would drink one, my excuse because of that screaming noise I could still hear all the way out here in the barn!

Chrysalis has a penetrating voice, I come to realize. Not all that different from the Canterlot Voice, but there are no windows shattering and it is distinctly hers. The keening wail breaks my heart, but I steel myself and head for work. She makes me feel like I'm abandoning her, that little manipulative princess! The day is dreadful. I slog through it in a state of "I'm a bad parent" misery. I came home that night and found the house still intact, doors undamaged, and windows still where they needed to be. I could see the glow of the television as I had left it on so she could have something to watch. I unlock the door, swing it open.

There she was, looking up at me with those huge eyes of hers and very happy to see me. I don't think she moved as that was the exact same spot she had been when I left. I scooped her up and checked to see if she ate the food I had set out for her. She didn't touch anything. Everything was as I had left it.

"Did you wait for me at the door all day?" I asked her at that point.

She's nuzzling my chin, her tongue all over my jawline and cheeks. "Yes," she replied in her tiniest voice. "Missed you." My little princess puts her hooves around my neck as best she is able. "Sowwy."

Yeah, I feel like a complete ass now.

Yay me.

It was like that for the next four days following. The crying as I head for the door, the long day wondering if my house was still going to be still standing when I got home (I was waiting for an earth-shattering kaboom), and the final act of a little dark changeling princess flinging herself into my arms. I'm happy to still have a house and Chryssie's happy I did not abandon her. I was really pleased she obeyed my rule of no magic unless opening doors or using utensils. I was also angry with myself for having a beer before driving to work.

I feel guilty for it, but the demon still has a hold over me. It's so hard to keep a promise sometimes. Maybe if I stop going to the next town over for my beer, maybe if I simply stop buying it.

God, it's hard. I think I'm addicted.

On the sixth straight day of work, Chrysalis does not throw a tantrum. She's come to realize I have to go, no matter how much she begs or pleads for me to stay. I promise we'll do something all day Sunday, tomorrow. She accepts it with a sigh, butts her head against my shin, and trots off to the living room. Her head hangs low.

Then came a lesson for both of us.

Changelings molt. The first time I witnessed it was like watching a car wreck happen in reverse. This also struck me as odd as apparently Chrysalis not only has bone structure like regular animals, but she has short rib cage. Once you get past her shoulders and to the little armor you see there, that's her exoskeleton. It overlaps the lower half of her ribs and is more for protecting her underbelly and sides. Then there's the carapace shell on her back. It's actually a solid piece that is flexible and allows her to move freely. Her wings actually sprout from a pair of slits growing around their base.

Let me back up a minute before I go further into changeling anatomy and what I've discovered at this point in my life. It's been a few weeks since she's come into my life and we've got a routine established. October has swung around after an uneventful September. Let me see, she's been here since the second to last day of August, appearing in the middle of that strange storm.

I've figured by now she may have arrived on that green lightning bolt. Lightning just does not occur naturally in that color. I could be wrong, but it's what I believe and that's what I'm sticking with. Anyways, we're back to the part where she's complaining about being uncomfortable. No matter what I try to do to take care of the discomfort, it's not good enough. Her skin feels dry and wrinkled to the touch. She complains of itching. Everything around her becomes a scratching post. This goes on all Sunday. Chrysalis is absolutely miserable and I'm thinking she's dying.

I'm using the notebook to remember everything. She still wants to be near me, huddling fearfully as she doesn't understand what's wrong with her. I've even tried moisturizing cream I found beneath the bathroom sink. As I rub it on her skin, it does a positive affect and Chrysalis even purrs a little. I nearly flinch my hand away as I feel her skin move sans the muscle tissue beneath it. I peer closer, still rubbing the spot I have my interest focused on. There's not a lot of give, but it seems as though her skin is loose. She's facing me, looking up piteously, not knowing what is happening to herself.

It's the third day since she started going through this. Being at work has been nerve-wracking while I wonder if she's in the middle of the floor, dead. I can't take her with me as the town is being scouted by some Hollywood people for a potential movie shoot. I'm not risking her for them and she doesn't seem too horrible. I do it anyways, lug her with me in a last moment decision, keeping her in a box. She stays on the cat bed all day, quiet unless she wants attention. Chrysalis is completely pitiful like this. She doesn't feel as though she's losing weight and I take that as a positive sign. Her skin feels weird and she just feels constricted.

It's busier and business is good for the next couple of days. It seems the actor himself wants to see the location and decides to stay for a couple of days. I meet him. Nice guy, asks all the polite questions, and I'm not sure if he's genuine or just bored. Owen is a boring town. I'm thinking he is genuine and he shakes my hand, wishes me luck after I tell him a little about myself at his prompting. He seems interested with the town and its folk and says he won't make a decision on the shoot location until late winter. There's no rush and this is a personal project his studio green lighted him to pursue. The guy is impressed I'm a war veteran and asks my why I don't have a better job.

"This is my home," I tell him, going into a little more detail about the house my grandparents left me. "It's all I've got."

He accepts my answer with an understanding nod. "Fair enough." As he leaves, he pauses as though he wants to ask another question, but changes his mind and waves goodbye with a smile and wishes me luck.

The whole time, I'm worried about my changeling. She remained quiet all day, then the next one under the counter. Her eyes are now almost completely glazed over milky whites. Chrysalis can still see, but not very well. It reminds me of a snake's eyes right before...

"You're shedding your skin!" I exclaim in awe as my stupidity gives way to understanding. By now we're caught up from what happened since the day at my work and where I was beginning to understand a little more about changeling anatomy.

Just as I say that, the middle of her back splits wide open. Chrysalis does nothing more than to arch her back and bend her neck down, going stiff as she's on my lap. There is a slight sound of her old skin creasing and splitting open, the gap growing wider and wider. The smell coming from the new opening is less than pleasant, but it's not as bad as the cocoon goo from ten days ago. I can hear her groan from within the skin she's shedding, wriggling to get out as she gasps for air. As grossed out as I am at seeing this, I do what I can to pull wide her shedding carapace. It splits easily and Chryssie yelps, jerking her back through the widened crack with more grunts and little groans.

All this on my lap. There's some sort of slime between her new skin and old running over the opening as she emerges, her old wings stiff and getting in the way. I noticed they weren't very big to begin with and I'm seeing the new ones as her shoulders emerge. Oddly enough, her tail is coming with her. I find that weird as my eyes go to the elongating opening along the line of her neck vertebrate, going to the base of her skull. It's there it peels off like sun burnt skin, or probably closer to snake skin.

The whole time I'm trying to encourage her despite the urge I have to scream. Revulsion is replaced by fascination. This is totally going from really freaky scary weird to really freaky cool and weird. Don't ask why I didn't get her off me. It's not every day you have a changeling shed her skin, facing you and looking up at you with pleading eyes to make all the discomfort go away.

"Feels better!" I hear her mumble, trying to move her head.

I reach out and push my thumbs beneath her old skin at the back of her head and begin to peel it away like it was an orange rind. Her mane is confined to the top of her head, much like a human's and her new skin does not include it. It's kind of odd she has a bit of both mammalian and insectoid traits. Then again, she's a magical creature not of this world.

Now her new wings are starting to pop up from being pressed against her body. They're shriveled and I imagine they'll dry out like a butterfly's and grow out to a much fuller size than the current wrinkled forms they are now. Chrysalis begins to work her legs free now as she's shaking her neck and head in little bursts of energy before stopping to rest, her chest heaving from the efforts.

"Almost there," I encourage her, touching her new skin. It's wet, but feels velvety. This seems to spur her to another effort of freeing herself.

Now her head and neck is free, though there are bits and pieces of dead skin clinging here and there, especially around her hair and within the forest of roots beyond. I'm thinking it might just need a good scrubbing with shampoo to take care of that and a brush. She's blinking with new eyes now, bright and focusing, wet nostrils flaring as she takes in being able to smell things properly again. Chrysalis lets out a little snort of triumph and is able to look at me and offer an embarrassed smile.

I smile right back. "This is good, baby. This is very good. Don't stop now, you're almost out of your old skin."

My fingers are working on splitting the old shell wider still. A dull crack can be heard and a large portion of her sloughing skin is now free from her and in my right hand. I set it on the coffee table and start working on her legs. Strangely enough, the skin does not extend into the holes of her legs, leaving me to think there's a different sort of skin within them. I've felt them before and they're hard enough to feel like the same substance as her horn is in there. Perhaps her skeletal structure is exposed inside there? I don't know and am not really sure. Together we get her out of her old skin. Bits and pieces of it begin to collect on the coffee table until we have a little pile of what looks like a plastic sculptor's drug-induced creation.

Chrysalis jumps off my lap and on to the floor. She's wet, coated with the slime that had formed to separate her old skin from her new and she's happy, fluttering her quickly drying wings. I can see they're going to be bigger than her old ones. She looks bigger, too. I think her legs are a little longer, as is her neck. Then again, I might be imagining it.

Before I decide to get rid of the old skin, I grab the digital camera from on top of the book case where all of the DVDs are kept. Chrysalis is sniffing at her old skin, curious as she studies what had once been a part of her. I take a few pictures of her doing that, kneeling and leaning in until she sees what I'm doing and starts sniffing at the camera.

Of course I took photos of that!

"What that?" she asks me as I'm snapping away.

"Mementos," I reply, putting it aside and giving her a hug. "Things like this are important, especially for families. We'll be able to look back and remember these days. You'll see."

In the back of my mind, I'm thinking something is going to take her away from me. It makes me afraid. Chrysalis is growing on me and I'll admit I am feeling like a father. It's only been a week and I find I enjoy having a child depend on me for caring and comfort. I don't know about the nurture part. I've always been told that's a woman thing, but I don't know. At this point, I really don't care. I've got a happy filly doing a fair impression of a fan in my face with her newly dried wings.

Pictures are uploaded onto the computer eagerly. I still haven't gotten around to getting an internet connection, but I can still transfer the pictures I just took. I show a curious changeling the pictures on the screen and she thinks its just marvelous. I then get a plastic bag and start putting the creepy thing on the coffee table into it and go to the shed in search of a shovel, bag dragging with almost no weight to it. It sounds like I'm dragging a bag full of loosely crumpled up newspaper. What slimey stuff got on me has now dried, leaving a crust like dried milk in places on my clothes and skin.

I decide to have her molt in the bathroom from now on. I come to this decision when I return and see the condition of the couch and parts of the carpeting. It's not horrible, but it's not exactly something you can ignore. I draw a shallow bath for Chrysalis and leave her playing in the water with her football (it's now her bath toy and stays there). Using one of my grandmother's old hairbrushes, I attack dead the skin still in her mane and tail and brush gently, yet vigorously to remove the remaining skin. Meanwhile, Chrysalis is absolutely loving the attention, her eyes nearly shut from the pleasure of a hairbrush going through her mane. She sits sedated in the middle of the tub, football partially in her mouth and squeaking it very slowly. The little princess hums happily and is disappointed when I finish. I lather her mane up one more time with shampoo, let it sit, telling her the whole time what a pretty little princess she is.

I'm a sap. So what? I'm also a raging lunatic, according to my ex.

Once she's done with her bath, I clean up the living room. I'm doing that a lot, I notice, cleaning. Oh well. I fully intend to make her clean up her own messes once she's older. In the meantime, I realize I am still a mess, sigh, and go to take my own shower. The molt still lies in the bag near the back door in the kitchen. I really don't want to deal with it right now. Work is in a couple of hours and I want to write what happened in my journal.

Yes, I could just do it on the computer, but this is personal and very special. When you're raising your own magical creature under your own roof, you can keep track of her in your own way, can't you?

Where was I?

The weeks go by and Chryssie molts once a month, I'm discovering. I'm thinking there might be a pattern to this, noting it down dutifully. We're both better prepared for the next one, though it still doesn't make the experience any less uncomfortable. She endures it with resigned trepidation as it makes her feel "icky". I just help and take pictures. She hates the pictures because she thinks she's at her ugliest when she molts. Very self conscious of her appearance, I'm beginning to notice. I stop after her next molt and just concentrate on helping her. By her third, she's doing it herself.

We do have seasons as this happens. Between moltings, fall goes into full swing. It gets colder and I begin to look for warm things to wrap Chrysalis in for the onset of winter. Midwestern winters can be brutal some years, mild the others. The last one was somewhere in between, so I'd rather be ready for the worst. I find plenty of scarves in an old dresser upstairs. By now, Chryssie's room is also finished. She stays in there when I'm not home, moving things around constantly as I tell her she can arrange it in any way she sees fit. She can't quite navigate the stairs without going slowly; they're simply too tall for her little legs at this point. It's easy to hear when she's going up and down the steps. I also at times hear her scooting the things she can move around with her magic upstairs. I always check to see what she's doing as one never leaves a child alone for too long. I don't mind. I'll catch her often in the middle of looking at picture books I let her have. She's very careful with them. Maybe I should get her a coloring book and crayons. She'd like that. My Christmas list is already forming as to what I should get her.

Her vocabulary is steadily improving. I read to her old children's books from when my mom and my aunts and uncles were kids. Dr. Seuss, Curious George, and several other names I can barely remember are found. The books look like they've seen better days, but they work. She asks me questions once she learns how to ask and they are endless. I don't mind them and have fun answering most. Others are fairly awkward questions, a few I deflect to something else.

About Thanksgiving time, or in the days leading up to, my ex calls me on a Sunday. We talk for a little bit, me bitter, she waving the custody of our daughter into my ear. She asks if I will give up all rights to Crystal so she can marry Mr. Jerkface and let him adopt my daughter.

I tell her no. I don't care if she marries the idiot, but I'm not giving up my rights to my baby.

She screams at me, "You crazy no-good bastard! You don't have what it takes to be a good dad to my daughter! You know I left you once I found out you were crazy! Nobody wants a lunatic raising their kid! Do yourself a favor and just do it. I'm sending the documents. Sign them or I'll make a judge make you give up Crystal."

With a calm I never thought I had, I reply, "You never gave me a chance to be a dad to our daughter. I've only seen her maybe three months of her life."

She hangs up in the wake of exasperation following my reply.

What the hell?

I stare at the phone for...how long?

There's a tug at my leg. I look down. Chrysalis has her hooves wrapped around my right leg, staring up at me with worry. "What's wrong?" she asks with remarkable clarity. "You sad. Why?"

There's a pregnant pause as I formulate how to answer such a simple question. "There's a lady who is the mother of my daughter - your sister - who wants to take her away from us." I'm trying not to make Chryssie feel as though she's not supposed to be the substitute daughter for my own flesh and blood. I'm already seeing her as my second daughter. I can't help it and to be honest, I really don't mind at all.

"I has a sister?" she brightens, her eyes sparking with interest. "What name?"

"Crystal."

"Can I meet her?"

"I don't know." I really, honestly don't. "I'd like you to meet her. Maybe one day."

"Is the lady my mommy?" she asks, confused.

I shake my head. "No, baby. She's not your mom." Good God, what a mess that encounter would be! "You really don't want to meet her right now."

Curious, she asks, "Why do you love the lady making you sad?"

"You can feel that, can't you?" I sigh, surprised when I shouldn't be. Our emotional bond is in the literal sense now. Its still tentative as Chrysalis is still growing, but she gets an idea of my mood if she tries hard enough. On top of that, she's a changeling.

"Yes." It's clear she does not understand. I honestly don't, either.

"Love is a complicated thing. Even I don't fully understand it," I say helplessly with a shrug while I tussle her mane. "I don't hate her. I love her because she's the mother of your sister." I'm explaining this to a toddler. Why? "It's a hard question to answer. Maybe you'll understand when you're older."

I think at this moment, I was wishing Chrysalis was still at the shrieking stage of her vocal development. I'm feeling inept under her innocent little questions. I don't think I'd mind an exploding door or two in my face. Anything but try to answer questions posed to me from that sweet little green-eyed dark angel on the mattes concerning my shattered relationship with my ex. She understands my discomfort.

"I sowwy." She hugs me, her little wings buzzing.

She's got the understanding of an older child by about three or four years. Her intelligence continues to astound me. Chryssie is going to be a lot smarterer than me.

Yes, I did that deliberately.

Thanksgiving rolls around. My boss's wife makes way too much turkey and stuffing and all the other neat stuff you get on Thanksgiving. The store is closed on this holiday and there's a knock at the front door of my house. Chryssie quietly finds a dark corner beneath a covered end table, her eyes following me after I check to make sure she's out of sight. We've been watching the first football game of the day with a sumptuous feast of fish sticks and fries. The boss and his wife are on the other side of the door, smiling huge smiles and holding dishes upon dishes of food. There's even a small turkey.

I invite them in graciously, wishing them Happy Thanksgiving, taking some of that food off their hands and guiding them to the kitchen. I hope Chrysalis has enough sense to remember to hide the way I taught her since I started telling her people would want to take her from me if they discovered her. I would tell her when it was safe to meet new people. They've been here before, when my grandma was alive. The last time they had seen the house was at her wake. Soon the kitchen counter is covered with food, all of it still warm. They can't stay too long as they've got a house load of family waiting for them to get back so they can have their family feast.

"Are you sure you won't come over, dear?" the boss's wife asks worriedly.

I shake my head, smiling. "Not at the moment. Maybe later this evening? About six-ish?" I really don't want to leave Chryssie alone, not on Thanksgiving. It's her first significant holiday (we did nothing for Halloween as I worked that night). On top of that, I've got to call my own relatives.

They agree, tell me to enjoy the food and both followup with a hug. I'm guiding them to the front door and noticed a little dark form dart curiously towards the kitchen. A pair of green eyes flicker towards us, tilting to one side. They start coming closer. I take the conversation to the front porch and chat with the boss and his wife for several more minutes. I think we were talking about their newest grandkid.

In the meantime, Chryssie has her face plastered on the window right next to them and pushing her mouth open on it. Her tongue is all over the glass as her angle is bad to see the older couple. She squirms on the chair, loses her balance and falls forward in the space between the chair and window sill. I wince, my boss happening to looks at the window. He sees a wet spot where a tongue had been circling there just moments before.

"What's that?" he asks, pointing at the smeared window.

Inwardly, I groan. "I was cleaning the window when you came in. Had a bird in the house and it smacked into the window."

"How'd it get in?" the wife asks, curling a finger to her mouth in worry. "Was the poor thing hurt?"

Spreading my hands and shrugging helplessly, I grin. "I don't know. I didn't think to ask before I let it go," I say dryly. "Flew just fine last I saw."

They're both facing me now, laughing. At the bottom of the window, a little black head pokes up, tilting this way and that as a pair of hooves balance on the window sill. Chryssie blows a raspberry at me. The boss and his wife bid me farewell, reminding me to stop by later. They leave and I wait until they are pulling out of my driveway, waving at them at intermittent intervals like an idiot. Don't get me wrong. I like them both, I really do. I just feel stupid waving at people who probably aren't even paying attention to me anymore.

I clean Chryssie's slobber mark off the window. I give a light reprimand for showing up in the window and shoo her into the kitchen with me following behind. The little princess is giggling the whole time.

The fish sticks and fries are placed in a plastic container and deposited in the fridge. I make a Thanksgiving plate for my changeling daughter and set it in the living room. She stares at the different types of food set before her at the coffee table. There's a little bit of everything and she has no idea where to start. Of course, there's the slices of turkey breast, cranberries, creamed corn, cornbread, fried okra, baked beans, potato pie, green bean casserole, mashed potatoes, sweet potato salad, deviled eggs, and, of course, pumpkin pie. A whole pumpkin pie.

I let her pick what she wants on her plate, of course. Her nose guides her selection and soon she's at the coffee table as I mentioned, just staring in awe at the new things she's about to try for the first time. Of course, I pile my plate high and emerge from the kitchen. We eat more than was probably good for us, winding up with distended bellies, slouched side by side on the couch and watching the Detroit Lions get their butts handed to them. I have a perfectly satisfied look on my face at the end of the game as my team, the Chicago Bears had beaten their division rivals. They were having a good year.

I make the appropriate phone calls to the relatives still talking to me after the game. Chryssie has fallen asleep and is snoring into my side. She's drooling on my shirt, but looks too cute for me to move her. I do adjust her head as her horn pokes into a rib. She snorts, blinks up at me, makes a face, and snuggles back to sleep. With her horn in the same spot again. Ah, the power of turkey!

I get mom's answering machine. Dad tells me he can't talk long but wishes me a Happy Thanksgiving. My sister gets into me finding help for my mental issues. I say "I love you" to all, but none return the feeling. They're so involved in their own lives, they make assumptions. I do too. For me, it's started to change. The little bundle of joy next to me is starting to become a sort of testament to what a little thing can do in a troubled life.

I find I'm not depressed. Thanksgiving is a stressful day. I let it all pass.

I've got Chryssie. I've also got a kind old couple who wants me to visit, if even for a little bit. I do that, prompted by a sleepy changeling who won't be waking up any time soon.

I get halfway between smashed and completely blitzed while there and have to be driven home. I wake up on the couch with an unhappy changeling glaring at me, unforgiving as the hangover reminds me of what a moron I am. Chrysalis doesn't speak to me the whole day, but glares, even hissing as if knowing exactly when to punctuate the headache at the exact right time. At least she had the common sense to stay out of sight. I don't even remember coming home. That night, she forgives me when I'm feeling at my lowest, hopping up into bed with a little effort, sitting at my side for a moment, our eyes locked in silence. She lays down on my chest, offers forgiveness in the form of a small smile and goes to sleep.

Of course I accepted it, don't be silly. I'd been apologizing all day for it and I sure as hell was happy to get it. I did not do good. It was not all right of me to get drunk. I even made a point to call my boss the next morning and apologize. To my surprise, he apologized to me because he did not consider his son-in-law drawing me into a bit of binge drinking in the garage.

The next month flies by. We get our first snow the second week of December. It sticks around long enough for me to bundle up Chryssie and let her play in the white stuff. There's only a couple of inches on the ground, but it's more than enough to become a winter wonder playground for a filly. We spend the day making snow animals in the backyard. It didn't stay around too long and melted within a few days. I took more pictures of her posing proudly with her various little snow creations before the sun took them from her. She looked so proud of them!

Then the less than pleasant things began to show up, courtesy of the United States Postal Service.

I did get the documents as promised by the ex. They look official. After carefully reading each and every page a few times over, I burn them. Not unless it's from my cold, dead hands. Last I checked, Crystal was still my daughter, just as much as Chryssie had grown to become. I may be downtrodden, poor, and unable to defend myself with lawyers, but I intended to fight. I was an angry father, a spiteful lover, and a scarred war veteran as I burned those pages, one at a time, my face set with grim resolve.

Next year was going to be ugly and I found myslef worrying about Chryssie and Crystal equally. I have two daughters, not just one. One I could hold and hug and love, the other one I worried about, wanted to hold and hug and love. I wrote a letter to my boss one evening with Chryssie looking at me curiously from her couch as she watched her movie. I would give it to him when I go to work. Maybe he can help. In the letter was everything. Maybe even my hopes.

A Christmas tree found its way in the living room a week before, a gift from an anonymous donor from the town's only church. It was delivered in the first flakes of the winter's second snow fall. Chryssie hid upstairs. I'm sure she found a way to watch everything going on as the tree was delivered by two men I was only familiar with, but did not know. I knew the pastor with them, a young man not much older than myself and his wife. I could sense this was a welfare check of some sort as I was beginning to think my boss was trying to get the town interested in me. He had the letter by now.

The subject was broached to me one afternoon as I was getting ready to start my shift.

"I think I understand a bit more of what you're going through, son," he told me, then shook his head with a sigh, "but you shouldn't have burned that document. You signed for it, didn't you?"

Sighing, I replied, "Yeah, I did."

He shook his head. "I'll make a few calls and ask around. No promises."

Nothing more was said about it.

It was Crystal's birthday today. She's three now. I wonder how she's doing, if she's smiling, if she's laughing. Is she happy? Is she loved? I worry. Chryssie senses my anxieties as I sightlessly watch the television, jumping on the couch next to me and forcing her muzzle under a hand. I can feel her trying to soothe her way into my thoughts, her own eyes reflecting my unhappiness. I'm worrying over something I have no control over. Chryssie is just worried about me. She knows I'm hurting, but she doesn't know why. The filly does her best to cheer me up, her nuzzle to the tip of my nose and she's just humming softly, her eyes closed. The tip of her horn glows with some sort of magic. Maybe it's some natural ability she has. I don't know.

I'll be damned if it doesn't work. Our bond has slowly grown stronger over the past few months and we have a fairly good idea of what the other wants or needs if we think hard enough. It's not so much mind reading as it is mind feeling. We can't communicate telepathically, though I wonder if that is a possibility as she gets older and more refined with her powers. Sharing our feelings is odd. Chrysalis feeds off of mine and I find I'm willing to do it for her. My body has also adjusted to her feeding. Is this good or bad? I don't know. I have come to understand with full clarity after a few months and with no shades of doubt.

I love my second daughter and she loves me.

Her first Christmas is simple, as I can only afford to give her a few simple things. I have to explain how the holiday works, giving its initial meaning and of course her introduction to Santa Clause. I think she likes the Santa Clause idea a lot better as she tears into her first brightly wrapped gift and finds a stuffed Twilight Sparkle plushie almost as big as her beneath it.

No, not the alicorn one, but an older unicorn toy I found unopened at a Goodwill. She absolutely loves it, squealing with delight and hugging it and me at the same time. I also have the coloring books and the crayons which she also loves, but her Twilight Sparkle was the absolute favorite thing in the whole world the moment she could see beneath the wrapping. I had sent my mom a wrapped dublicate doll with a Christmas card in hopes she would in turn give it to Crystal.

I recieved a few cards from the family. Mom said she would forward the gift and that it was very nice of me to try and do something for my daughter. I think she was not expecting it. Dad sent me a hundred bucks. My sister offered me a job working for her and learning how to be a real estate agent. She even included her business card. Cute. The boss gave me a nice bonus, though it was completely unecessary. Five hundred dollars will go a long way with my tiny budget.

New Years comes and goes and it's the next year already. It gets colder and the next wave of snow blankets the flat plains in frozen contemplation. The air moves, a constant bombardment of chilled winds. It's too cold for Chrysalis, in my eyes for her to go outside. The little filly tried to follow me once when I went to shovel snow from the driveway. It was deep and drifting. She was bundled in just about anything I could wrap her in until she was a ball of scarves and sweaters. A stocking cap with a hole cut in it for her horn was snuggled warmly on her head. Earmuffs were probably an overkill, but I'm taking no chances in sub-zero weather when she decides she's going to follow me into January's embrace.

It doesn't last long. After fifteen minutes, she's begging me to let her go back inside.

We go inside, I spend ten minutes or so getting her out of her warm bundle of everything imaginable I could put on her in terms of warm layers. She keeps her hat on. When I go outside, she's at the window, waving at me with a little hoof as I go back to finishing the driveway.

The response I expected from the ex didn't come as I had expected. One morning while sipping on a cup of coffee and watching the news, there was a major story on all the networks. Outside, another blizzard was brewing. This winter was turning out to be harsher than usual. An airliner crashed a river early this morning after the pilot reported engine problems. I'm staring as there's live footage of a large passenger jet lying upside down and in several large pieces. It happened three hours ago. Rescue efforts were underway. There were few survivors.

The phone rings. A deep pit forms in my stomach. I am loathe to answer it. I pick up the reciever anyway.

"Hello?"

"Mike? Are you watching the news?" It's mom. Her voice is breaking, though she's trying to be strong.

"Yeah. What's wrong mom? Was someone we know on that plane?"

Chryssie is there, circling my legs, her wings buzzing in the somber mood hovering over the living room. My eyes go from her to the television. The camera is on some bundled survivors from earlier footage, being taken from the boat bringing them from the wreck. One of them is my ex. There's not mistaking her face. Only...

"It's Crystal."

I'm starting to feel sick. "She wasn't on that plane, was she?"

There's a pause. Mom's crying. I can hear it. I'm starting to cry. Don't let it be, please God don't let it be what I think it is!

"I'm sorry, Mike. I'm so sorry." Mom's voice is in shambles.

The phone falls from my nerveless hands. I scream, falling on my knees. I deny it. I deny the possibility. Not my baby! Not my daughter, my flesh and blood, my Crystal!

Chryssie is somehow in my arms. She's scared of me, I can feel it, but she can't bring herself to leave me. She doesn't understand. She does understand. It doesn't matter either way, she's there. She's trying to make me okay. Her little voice is in my ear, her own cries soft as she shares my grief. Over and over she says the same thing.

"I love you, daddy. Please don't cry."

That was the first time she ever called me Daddy.

Part V

The worst thing any parent experiences is the funeral of their own child. It's like having your heart torn from you, shredded right before your eyes while you fall into a pit of darkness worse than any other personal nightmare. All I had until that moment was Crystal and Chrysalis, until the phone call. I mustered enough composure to call my boss and tell him, but fell apart in the middle of explaining my baby was... was... gone.

I mourn. I lament. I curse life. I curse death. I curse my ex. I curse my family. I curse myself. I curse God. My heart is shattered into so many pieces I simply want to cease being. My life up to that point had been wanting to see my baby girl grow up, to meet the first boyfriend she brings over in the way all fathers really want to. I wanted to see her in her prom dress, to hear about what she learned in school, her engagement to that wonderful man who would spend the rest of his days worshipping the ground she walked upon. I wanted to hold my first grandchild.

Gone.

I'm already emotionally unstable as it is. I want to go, to descend into nothingness. I want a bottle of booze so bad.

Chryssie won't let me go.

Barely older than the joy I had just lost forever, she has been there with me every moment. I don't answer my phone. It rings constantly. Three days have passed. My world is the couch. My view is the same channel the television has been on for that time. She is there, giving her daddy all the love she can muster, trying to understand tragedy, yet unable to grasp it with her young mind. All she knows is to love.

But she's a changeling, I wonder in my pitiful state, breaking from the pit I've fallen into long enough to regard those loving eyes. They take love, not give it. How is it she can understand love? It was nothing more than a source of food in that one episode.

One episode.

What else do I not understand about changelings?

Three days, then there's a knock at my door. The time of day is around noon. Paying attention to the time really doesn't matter. I can hear a familiar voice calling. I get up, taking a moment to watch Chryssie scramble to one of her selected hiding places. Has she been getting bigger? I wonder, casting a final glance where she disappears into one of the closets, pulling the door behind her enough so there's a mere crack she can peer out of.

I open the door and there's mom. She's aged. Her hair is neat, bobbed, but she's forgotten her hair coloring and I can see the gray in her roots as she sees me. Never one for ceremony, she throws her short arms around my neck, immediately bursting into tears. I'm easily a foot taller than her, but she's one of those women you look up to, no matter how much taller you are. She's in a gray suit and red top beneath her heavy coat. She's alone and she's apologizing to me. I simply notice it's cold outside with bare patches of frozen earth poking between snowdrifts that have hardened over from the fluctuating temperatures.

I'm a kid again and she's making me remember the time when my cat Timothy got too old and had to be put down. I know I'm wrong in thinking this, comparing her reaction at my daughter's death to that of a family cat some ten, eleven years ago, but I guess my heart had hardened at that point. Maybe I was past mourning and was simply sinking into indifference. Maybe I just don't care anymore. I return the hug mom gives me with half the effort or less than what she gave me. I feel empty.

Without Chryssie, I know I'd be dead right now. I don't have to wonder if.

Dammit, I love the little filly.

Mom guides me to the living room, knowing this old house as well as I do, perhaps better. She had grown up in it. Upon seeing the state of the living room, especially the trash and dishes and other crap piled up around the couch, she changes her mind and gets me to the kitchen table. We sit down and she starts lecturing me. She doesn't mean to and I know she means well, but I just stare at her, nodding along as her words go in one ear and out the other.

She knows I won't go to the funeral, but she tries to get me to go anyway. Besides, she can't help being a mom as she's also checking up on me. I'm obviously a mess. I realize this, apologize for my sloppy and sorry condition and excuse myself for a shower. She smiles, says that would be fine, and I go to my room to dig up clothes.

Chryssie follows me without being seen.

"Who lady?" she whispers with a squeaky voice. She's got a hoof up to her mouth and she's trying to conceal her voice.

"That's my mom."

Curiously hopeful, she then asks, "Can I meet her?"

"No, honey. Mom is not someone who would understand you." I'm tired. I'm worn. Having Chryssie with me is reassuring. Having Mom visit is nerve racking. I dig through my dresser for clean clothes. With them under my arm, I head for the bathroom. Chryssie slinks beneath my bed and I give her a gentle smile as she peeks out from under it. I told her 'no' and I hope she'll obey for her sake. Trusting Chryssie with certain things is a crap shoot. If she feels like doing something, she'll do it no matter what I say. Trying to discover who you are tends to make certain changelings do things behind their father's backs.

Well, to be fair, it's not as though I have forbidden her from using her magic. I've only forbidden her from doing certain things I know she can do but are potentially destructive. I take my shower, brush my teeth and make myself presentable. The whole time, I'm thinking of both my daughters. What would it have been like for them to have met? I'm pretty certain they would have absolutely loved each other.

And I'm still beating myself up.

Mom knocks on the bathroom door and asks if I'm okay. I've been staring at the mirror for a while. I don't know how long. I once went into and gun battle knowing full well we were going to get shot at. I faced my fears then. I was a soldier. I followed the orders of my superiors. Besides, I had by brothers with me. But facing my daughter's death?

It's a waking nightmare.

"I'm fine, Mom. Be out in a second."

I worry Chryssie will be discovered. Trusting her is shaky. She is a toddler. Giving her some credit, I haven't told her to stay in one hiding place. I'm letting her practice being a changeling. I believe they're best at being stealthy, blending in their surroundings when they don't want to be seen. The dawning she might be practicing some of her skills and abilities on my mother occurs and I emerge from the bathroom wondering if my theory is sound. Still, she's a novice. We do have a backup plan. If somehow she's discovered, I've told her in the past to just turn into Mr. Whiskers.

She's practiced it several times in the past. I've even gone so far as to remind family and friends who might come over I've got a cat that comes and goes as she pleases. It's an easy lie. I encourage Chryssie to be sneaky. The nature of a changeling can't be denied and I want her to be one as close as I can get. I want her to be herself, but I also want her to be a good girl.

Mom cleaned up the living room while I showered. She's in the process of drying the dishes after I peek and see things a lot cleaner than they were three days ago.

Moms do that. They've been picking up after their children for thousands of years. Tell me again why we only have one day out of the year dedicated to them? I know she and I have had our differences, especially since she divorced dad when I was a teen, but she's still my mom and I'm glad she's there. For the moment, I set aside my anger and disappointment she took my ex's side. Maybe my daughter was better off. Maybe she would not be dead.

Stop it!

I'm not helping myself.

I thank mom for cleaning up. She stays a bit longer, still trying to convince me to come to the funeral. There's no point in me going. Besides, she'll be there and she'll blame me. I know she'll find any reason to blame me. My ex is vindictive like that. Probably she'll tell me it was because I didn't sign the documents. I'm pretty bitter and insistent about not going. Mom doesn't push the issue and gives me some money. I don't know why. She just does. As she's leaving, Mom pauses at the door and remembers something.

"She loved that stuffed purple horse you got her for Christmas. She took it everywhere she went with her."

You know what? That makes me feel better for some reason.

"Thanks, Mom. That means a lot to me."

Thanks, Twilight.

I heard later my ex had made a scene at the funeral, telling everyone what a lousy father I was and how she blamed me for everything. If she had an angle, I'd think she's blame the start of the Second World War on me. All I know is I get a phone call from Mom and she tells me how glad she is I didn't go. The ex was going full village mob on me, almost complete with torches and pitchforks. Her hysterics ruined what should have been a somber moment of remembrance for Crystal. It wasn't out of selfishness, I don't think. There's a part of me that will always think there was a lot of regret and her own grief.

I forgave her in my heart and moved on with my life, never hearing from her again. Mom sent me a copy of the last known photograph of Crystal before she was called to Heaven.

Yeah, I believe in God. I have faith. It's badly shaken, though. I believe things happen for a reason, even if it means going through what Job went through.

Don't know who he was?

For those of you unfamiliar with the Old Testament, I'm not going to go on a religious rant or anything like that. Let's just say Job was a man completely devoted to his faith. God and the Devil were having a discussion and God says to the Devil to check out his servant, a man named Job. He's got everything a man could ever want; a wife, children, land, wealth, servants, livestock and absolute love towards God. The Devil challenges him, saying Job wouldn't be so loving to God if everything he has is taken away. So, God accepts the challenge and tells the Devil he can do whatever he wants to Job, so long as he doesn't kill him. That man loses everything. A house collapses on his family, killing all of his children. Raiders come and kill his servants and steal everything. Despite all that, Job thanks God, his faith unwavering. Then the Devil goes to God again and tells him Job would surely curse the name of God if he were stricken with sickness. God give the Devil the green light to do whatever he wants to Job, so long as he does not kill him. Now, Job's wife comes to him. Go figure. Of all the things he still has, it's his wife and she nags him to spit on God's name and be done with it. What does Job do? He reprimands her and praises God. God in turn tells the Devil to take a long walk off a short pier and rewards Job's faith by restoring all that was lost to him, even doubling his good fortune for his faith.

It's a test of faith. I think everyone has their moment being Job, even if they don't believe in a God. I don't know if I'm keeping my faith, but I am trying to be at least a good father to a changeling princess who absolutely adores me.

Sadly, I do not have the strength of a figure from the Bible. They're just stories, aren't they? At any rate, I don't mean to ramble into a religious perspective of comparing me to a man who supposedly lived three thousand years ago or so. I doubt because I cannot believe what I cannot feel or touch. Faith is a commodity I cannot at this present time believe in.

Thinking back, maybe I have failed myself more than anything else. My faith in who and what I am was shaken in a far away land and finally broken when my daughter died.

I failed, not God, not anyone other than myself. I realize that now as I pull myself painfully from the doldrums of misery. The shattered bits of my faith must be picked up, I must go on. It won't be the same as it was before, but what is after certain events occur to leave permanent scars deep inside one's soul?

Maybe my test is to see if I can grow up a bit more and stop wallowing in my self pity. Maybe I can pull myself out of this pit I've dug myself into. God or no God, I am responsible for the path in life I choose to follow. Faith is more of a guide rather than a rulebook to follow verbatim. Chrysalis has a second chance with me, I think. I'm getting a second chance with her.

I will see my daughter again one day. But, as the line from Gladiator goes, "Not yet."

I have to go on for Chrysalis. She needs me. The road before me I see is long, treacherous, full of pitfalls. Can I make it? Do I have the mental fortitude to follow this path?

The months go by, winter transitions to a wet spring. I'm back to work. My Chryssie continues to grow, to learn, to discover herself. She practices her shape shifting and her magic under my watchful eye. I'm sure she's also doing it when I'm at work, but I don't mind. I do tell her to clean up any mess she might make and if she thinks it might not be a good idea to do to not do it. It takes time, but the pain eventually fades, but there's always a hole in my heart where my daughter once was. I fold it away like a precious part of my soul and keep it in the safest place in my heart, right next to this growing love I have for my second daughter.

They would have made beautiful sisters.

For my birthday, Mom sent me a locket with my daughter's picture in it. Inscribed in it were the words, "Gone, but never forgotten and always missed."

I've never taken it off since.

Thanks, Mom. I love you.

The actor who came last year looking for shooting locations came back. They've decided they're going to shoot their movie in Owen. The town's population of less than fifty receives the news with a great deal of excitement. Shooting begins within a month. They want to use my house as part of a background in some of their scenes. It's supposed to be a romantic comedy. I might have mentioned before it was this actor's personal project. He meets me at work, commenting I'm looking the exact same way as I had before.

He offers me a couple of hundred dollars to be an extra on the movie. Helping out a veteran, he calls it. Five seconds of just walking behind the actors while they do their scene in the middle of the road. Easy stuff. Naturally, I jump at the chance to be in a big movie. I ask him what the movie is going to be about. So far, I've just heard it's going to be a romantic comedy.

The man smiles, looks around slyly as if he doesn't want anyone to hear what he has to say to me and crooks his finger for me to lean in. I do so and he whispers, "It's called Discord and Harmony."

The name lingers in my ear as I try to figure out where the hell I've heard those terms before. It's not until I get home and get greeted by Chryssie it dawns on me.

Oh, no, the actor's name isn't John de Lancie, in case you were wondering. Just because a movie title reminds you of a certain show doesn't mean it's going to be based on that show. In this case, it's pure coincidence. Still, it does make a chuckle-worthy moment. Shooting starts in June and is scheduled to last a couple of weeks at the most.

I'm seeing an opportunity to make some easy money and start cleaning up the two spare rooms upstairs for possible boarders for the two weeks of the shoot. The idea was thrown casually out when I spoke with the guy, mentioning I could have two rooms ready and available. I name my price for the two weeks and my offer is taken under consideration.

There's four bedrooms upstairs in the house. One belongs to Chryssie and one is dedicated to my grandpa. He was a Korean War vet and a recipient of the Medal of Honor. After his passing, I took some time helping grandma convert one of the bedrooms as a sort of memorial to him. There's his shadow box with all his ranks and medals up there, including the Medal of Honor. His uniform is displayed prominently, along with photographs of him, some of the guys he served with, the unit he was attached to, books, various memoirs. One of the books was autographed by General Douglas MacArthur himself. It's a war museum and memorial. There's even a plaque listing the names of the guys my grandpa knew in Korea who didn't come home.

I go there on days when my own demons haunt me, sitting in the old recliner - the only odd thing standing out in the room - sometimes with Chryssie on my lap and staring out the window. The room calms me as I think of how grandpa went through the same stuff I did. It gives me perspective in the futility of war, but the desire to watch the back of the guy next to you. I'd tell the stories grandpa told me to my adopted daughter. Maybe when she's older she can ask questions about her paw-paw.

Come to think of it, my dad served, too. He went Air Force, retired a Captain after twenty years. Now he's doing his thing. Crap, I come from a military family. I think that every time I pause to consider my lineage from both sides of the family.

Anyways, we - that is mostly me - clean up the other two rooms, putting stuff in the attic or in the basement. I don't go down there much, but that's where I do the laundry. It's partially finished, but I don't even let Chrysalis down there. The door stays shut as I always want to keep an eye on her. I'm sure she's explored it while I'm at work several times, but for the most part, she knows better. She's only allowed down there when I go down there. It's also our storm shelter in case of tornados.

Chrysalis is getting bigger. I'm beginning to notice it now. She's almost doubled her weight since first arriving. She's growing a little bit faster than a human child, it seems. It could also just be her growth spurts are throwing me off. I don't know, it's just fun watching her grow and learn. The internet is as much her teacher as I am her teacher and I'm careful to use the parental controls so she doesn't accidentally find sites I'd rather her not discover.

Now, the only reason I bring up the movie shoot is because Chrysalis wound up being in the same shot where I was walking in the background. A couple of the guys on the camera crew end up taking the two rooms upstairs. I welcome them in, a lot more confident Chryssie will mind herself. She's gotten better with her changeling ability to change her appearance, but most of the time, I tell her to practice hiding. If she doesn't get caught all day, I get her ice cream. If she is spotted, she turns into a cat and plays the part.

Okay, she still gets ice cream. I spoil the crap out of my princess.

Well, if you look at the scene in question, you'll of course see my goofy self waltzing by in the background like a putz. I pass by a clump of bushes. If you pause the movie just as I'm about to cut in front of those bushes, you'll see Chryssie's eyes glowing as she's staring up at me. Nobody spotted her. She stayed in her changeling form and simply blended in with her surroundings, using her ability to just bend the light around her form. Only her eyes stood out as she was still struggling to hold the magic. It was pretty hard for her to do that, but my girl did it!

I made two grand in rent from those two guys. Not bad for two weeks of room and board. They were nice, liked looking at my grandpa's stuff and never knew a changeling was watching them like a little predator.

I think it's instinctive for changelings to be able to hide if necessary. This would suggest something odd about their society, but what? I haven't a clue. People assume they have a hive mentality simply because they have bug-like characteristics. But I would like to point out one key thing changelings lack that all bugs possess; antennae.

I really don't know how to build on that at this point, but I'm just pointing that out. If I find something else out, I'll let you know. For now, just keep in mind I'm starting to think of changelings as social animals like a pride of lions or a pack of wolves rather than bees. The mental link between us might have something to do with Chrysalis being an alicorn among her species. I mean, she's got the horn and the wings, but I also recall the other changelings having horns and wings. Was it because she was distinctly different from the other changelings? I mean, come on, she faced Celestia in a moment of desperation.

Was this Chrysalis the same one? Or was it an alternate reality?

The possibilities also led me to believe it might not even have anything to do with the other stories I'd read.

I need to stop now. I'm confusing myself, thinking too much.

Once things quiet down, Chryssie and I settle down into a routine. On Sundays, I take her to the river and we go swimming during the summer. The water is perfect and teaching Chrysalis how to swim is not really different than watching a horse swim. She loves it!

My birthday comes and goes. I don't make a big deal of it, but I do get a few cards from the family. My boss gives me the day off as a present. It's a Saturday. Two days off in a row! Chryssie and I spend my birthday camping out by the river. We share the clear summer nights pointing out constellations and I tell her campfire stories grandpa used to tell me. We fish, we swim, we play. Chryssie has her first s'mores. She loves them!

Teaching her continues and she's a quick study. I show her animals in the wild. The first time she sees a fawn, she tries to imitate it. I find she tries to mimic everything living, but there appears to be a limitation to the size. She can appear as anything she chooses, some requiring a lot more practice than others, but she can't shrink her size past a certain point. It's fascinating watching her try new forms, though it's a little weird looking at a fifty pound squirrel.

She's learning to read and write. Chryssie loves learning and attacks the little learning challenges I give her like a starved wolf after a rabbit. So long as I keep her mind occupied, she's perfectly happy. If she's bored, she discovers things to do. Not all of them are exactly things I'd approve of.

Like levitating as many dishes as she can handle at once and floating them around the kitchen. Like the time she tried to rearrange the living room and wound up knocking over one of the book shelves. Luckily, nothing broke.

"Sowwy, daddy."

Her downcast eyes and head hung in shame made me feel guilty for yelling at her. I made her help me put everything back and sat her in a corner for half an hour.

I appreciate she's getting stronger with her magic and she wants to hone her skills, but I really would like to have a house still standing after my adopted daughter's experimentations. I give her exercises that are simple, yet engaging to practice her magic on. Not all of them are successful as I have no clue how to go about teaching magic to a changeling. She views them as chores. Well, they are. She's getting to the point where she can start pulling her own weight around the house. I intend to instill in her responsibility and a work ethic, to be respectful and courteous. I really hope she becomes a kind mare and not the supposedly wicked villainess in the show.

I really don't want to be that guy people point to and say, "Hey, that's the daddy of Malificent!" That would royally suck.

So, I try my best to be what I think is a positive role model. For one thing, I haven't had a drink since the end of February.

I prepare for her birthday, the summer winding down. We bake a cake together, I give her a present, and we spend the day swimming and have a picnic. It's a special day I had to postpone because of work, but that Sunday is special for both of us.

She's still dragging that Twilight plushie everywhere we go. She's also no longer afraid of the car and sits in the front, on the floorboard in front of the passenger seat. It's large enough for her to just sit there and rest her chin on the seat and make funny faces at me when she's in a good mood. Thankfully, that's a lot. Chryssie is a happy filly and I take that as a very good sign for her future. She's learning to be polite, to appreciate what she has. My little princess gets lots of love as I also picture giving her the same love I would have given Crystal.

I really hope I'm raising her right.

I think I'm learning as much as she is. I call my parents a bit more often, check up on my sister. The passing of my daughter has made us a little closer, but we all still lead our separate lives. Mom wants me to find a nice girl and be happy. Dad's on his next divorce. My sister is trying to keep her business afloat. Other than that, nothing's really changed.

Another thing; I'm not having the nightmares as often as I used to. Chrysalis still sleeps with me, but she's starting to get too big. She resists sleeping in her own room, in her own bed, but she's becoming a big girl. Besides, daddy doesn't mind having his little princess with him, but waking up with a mouthful of mane is disconcerting. She might start in her bed at bedtime, but often I'll wake up with her happily curled up against my side, or with her hooves wrapped around an arm.

I can't get mad at that.

I need to put my foot down.

Having just gotten home from work, I'm tired and looking forward to seeing Chryssie's face at the door. Going in, she's there, as usual, flinging herself into my arms as I crouch down to say hello. She's been cleaning the house, I notice. Or at least dusting it. Either way, she's taken pride in helping me keep a neat house. I'm very proud of her for that.

"The house looks good, honey." I giver her a hug and a kiss. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, daddy!" She beams at me.

We go to the kitchen so I can have dinner. She's waited for me to come home and we eat together, as always. She tells me about the things she saw on the internet, the new things she discovered, and tells me about the learning games she's allowed to play. I listen, smiling and laughing with her. It feels like a normal night, though some might think it odd to leave the house in the care of a changeling filly five or maybe six years old at the most. Chryssie is like a kitten in that respect, but this one cleans up after herself if she makes a mess. I can also talk to her and expect a response of some form.

It's weird, but I'm used to it by now. It's been a year, after all.

But breaking one habit with determination has proven to be troublesome. As I mentioned before Chrysalis loves to sleep with me. I want her sleeping in her own room. I don't want her dependant on me as a living security blanket. I can't tell you how many times I've woken up to her horn poking me in the face or in the neck or in the ribs. It's not sharp by any means, but I'm not interested in losing an eye. She's getting too big to be sleeping with daddy.

After dinner, I carry her upstairs, read her a bedtime story and tuck her in. So far, so good. This is only the beginning. I can feel her eyes on me as I leave. Chrysalis waits.

I get ready for bed, pause, listening for the pitter-patter of hoof steps upstairs. Nothing.

So far, so good.

I turn out the light, slide under the covers and get comfortable. It's dark. I'm hearing the grandfather clock tick-tock away. My hearing feels very keen. It's the same game we've been playing every night since I started making her sleep in her room. I've been giving in and letting her stay with her daddy. It has to stop and I'm not looking forward to it.

It begins when I hear four little hooves thump to the hardwood floor upstairs. There's a pause as I can picture my little Chrysalis frozen in place as she tries to figure out if Daddy heard her or not. I'm usually fast asleep, but it's been an hour since I turned in and I'm staring at the ceiling, waiting.

Her hooves click lightly upon the wood, barely decipherable through the creaking of a constantly settling house. They're there, heading out the room, into the hallway upstairs, pausing the top of the stairs. She's trying to navigate her way down, but I hear nothing.

Except for a slight buzzing sound of droning wings. Normally she tromps up and down the stairs like a herd of elephants, but she's flying! Or just drifting. She's coming down, not going up. I smirk, covering my face with my hands. I don't want to be the bad guy! But I do have to be Dad. I can hear her on the ground floor now, again the sound of her hooves catching my ears, coming closer and closer as she comes down the hall to my room.

She's at my door. I roll my head towards her and see her large, luminescent green eyes looking eagerly up at the bed, her ears perked forward. She comes forward, padding on suddenly stealthy hooves.

Just before she jumps up, I call out, "Chryssie, go to your room."

She has her best pleading little voice. "Wanna be with you."

"You're a big girl." I swing my legs out over the bed and plant them on the floor. Sitting up, I've got my arms locked down as my hands grip the side of the bed as I lean forward and down at the little changeling. She puts her front hooves on my knees and stands as high as she can, her eyes large, round presentations of adorableness. "You should be sleeping in your own bed."

"Don't like being alone," she tells me in a fearful whine. Chryssie edges closer to me, trying to elicit a hug from my stiff and statuesque body. By now, she's sidled along my leg and is pushing her head into my lower chest.

I'm picturing her as Crystal right now, wondering if she was in Chrysalis' place right now, how I'd react to this situation.

I'd do the same thing, I'd realize as I'm picking up my little princess, hugging her on my lap, surrendering as a father should to a daughter who's not ready to give up her right to snuggle with daddy when she's afraid. Realizing fear of being alone is the reason she's not in her room and asleep may have to do something with what I've had lingering in the back of my mind. I realize I'm afraid, too. Afraid of losing her.

She sleeps with me that night and I find I don't really mind. I'm just dad and daddy's little girl just got what she wanted. I'm such a sap.

Yay me.

Part VII

There is a photograph I took some years ago. It was Chryssie's first time seeing the ocean. It was the rocky shores of the Oregon coast, the summer sky gray with patches of sunshine. The waves crashed against the pebble beach in between great columns of rocky outcroppings where the erosion had yet to topple them. Seagulls called out mournfully overhead. My daughter is wading up into the water, halfway up her legs and turning to grin at me with this look of absolute wonder and joy. Her mane is being lifted by a breeze from the ocean, partially concealing her eyes and face, her ears are perked forward. Its a remote part of the shore, so there isn't anyone around. I still remember what she said to me on that day when she could feel the ocean around her for the first time in her life.

"Daddy, this is a dream come true!"

Pumpkin, my life has been a wonderful dream since you became a part of it.

The photo is one of my most treasured possessions because that was the last summer of innocence I can remember Chrysalis having before she began to transition from a filly into a magnificent mare. Her skin reminds me of that of a seal's every time I gaze upon it in that photo. She's developed spots along her neck that weren't there before. Must be a part of her maturation.

There comes a time in a man's life when he realizes his little girl isn't a little girl anymore. I won't claim to be the brightest crayon in the box, as Chryssie stopped molting and started becoming more and more like the dark and beautiful monarch I remembered from the show did not convince me she was growing up into an adult. It was not the fact she could almost look me in the eye now. I'm thirty-seven now and I don't think she's going to get much bigger than the beautiful statue of magnificence she has become. I'm so proud of her, I'm blind to the fact she has become aware of certain needs she has kept from me. I've always seen her as my little girl, but our trips across the country has dropped obvious hints of her changing the past five years. Ever since she hit the changeling version of puberty, my little girl has slowly transformed into something predatory.

It's not because she's evil. No, nothing like that. A tiger raised in captivity is going to have the same instincts as a tiger raised in the wild. However, in the wild those instincts are honed properly as a matter of survival. A domesticated changeling is like a tiger raised in captivity; she still has the same instincts, but she's had no means to effectively work on them all.

Chrysalis wants to rule. She's a queen. She was born to do so. She wants her own hive or swarm or whatever you call a bunch of changelings. I keep thinking she is what you would get if you mixed Aliens and Species together along with Disney's The Little Mermaid. My daughter doesn't have to tell me. I can feel it in her thoughts when ever she has time for herself.

Where am I getting these weird movie combinations, anyways?

Maybe I should have named her Kerrigan or Ripley.

Nah.

We have had arguments since she started growing into adulthood. Surprisingly, there were few times we would raise our voices, considering we are both quick tempered once our patience runs thin. Considering one of us has enough magic to blow up the house at any given moment (hint: it's not me), we both realize its probably not a good idea to let our emotions run wild. That's one of the purposes of our link, I think. We get a bit of a heads-up for each other's feelings and we love each other too much to resort to petty bickering. Oh, we do yell at each other. I've even grounded her in the past. But she has accepted her punishments before, but has started to become more and more independent minded the older she's gotten. Her intelligence far outstrips mine and I'll admit and she has a cunning that makes me feel like an infant.

Yay me.

Now, the predatory thing I mentioned is not just restricted to hunting down small, furry animals and eating them. There are very few rabbits left in the backyard anymore as it is. The problem I'm beginning to experience is her interest in the opposite sex. The problem is, there is no opposite sex for her on Earth. She's unique, one of a kind. She knows this, yet I've found Chryssie at sunset buzz her wings together in a loud, pulsing song, her eyes locked on the skies with lost hope in her eyes. Those harlequin eyes stare off and I can see the tears form as she tries and tries to call out for one of her own. It's instinct, I know. So does she. The futility of her actions does not prevent her from calling for one of her own.

Chrysalis is lonely.

How does a father deal with this? It's not like she asked a guy out and was rejected. It's more as if the world rejected her for wanting to find true love. The worst part is feeling her heartbreak, fighting her urges that grow with desperation every time she finds herself calling out to one of her non existent own. As her daddy, I can't help her. How can I?

I do the best I can, though it kills me to see her like this. Leaving her be, I even watch television, not paying attention to it until I hear the door open and close, the clatter of hoof steps on the tiled kitchen floor dejectedly. She crawls on the couch, stretching across it and puts her head on my lap, her face wet with tears and frustration. I can feel her sense of confusion, her unmet needs. Doing my best in the role of Daddy, enfold her neck in my arms and whisper to her how everything is going to be all right and how something will happen for her.

I feel like a complete tool.

The only thing I can think of is the only hope for her is to go back to Equestria. For the first time, I'm beginning to want Celestia to come and take my daughter. I don't want her to be without her own family, however that works.

After she's cried herself out, she goes to her room, flying up the stairs instead of walking. I hear her door close, her melancholy echoing as it shuts close. I contemplate her dilemma, staring at a program on the boob tube I'm not really paying attention to. That strange sensation I've been feeling in the past that I'm being watched returns. I don't realize what's going around me until I hear a voice I should know. I've heard it on the show.

I've heard it in the gas station.

There's a flash of bright white. "My, my, my." I look up and see that skinny guy with the red and yellow eyes staring down at me, wearing the same outfit he wore thirteen years ago. He hasn't changed at all.

"You're Discord, aren't you?" I ask after taking a moment to absorb the scene before me. The room has gone oddly gray, though the ceiling seems to have an unusual rosy hue to it.

"So nice to be recognized, Michael." The Lord of Chaos straightens up proudly before offering me a sweeping bow. "At your service."

The first thing popping to my mind is the lottery ticket. "Thanks."

"For what?" he asks, offering an innocent grin as he looks up from his frozen bow. "Giving you a means by which you can have the time to raise a changeling from filly to mare?"

"Well, yeah."

"What was it like?" he asks, straightening himself. His hat is placed firmly on his head and his grin is expectant as he rubs his hands together. I notice one is black and the other is white.

"It was like raising any kid, I guess." I make an inviting gesture for Discord to sit down.

He nods graciously and does so on the floor, sitting cross legged. "Do tell, do tell. I am to assume my little reclamation project went well then?" With a snap of his fingers, he's got a tea set sitting on the coffee table and we're sitting in the middle of a gazebo on top of grassy hill in a place definitely not on Earth.

I jump from the lawn chair I was suddenly sitting in, spinning on my heels as my mind can't really register what just happened. My eyes must have been bulging as Discord is laughing so hard, his mouth falls off his face.

"Oh, sorry," the mouth apologizes from the ground. Discord bends over and scoops it up, slapping it back on his face. "I'll try to keep this as 'normal' for you as possible. As you know, I am the Spirit of Disharmony, which means I'm all about chaos. Are you following so far, Mr. Spriggs?"

Mutely I nod, still staring, wanting to scream and run away. But I can't move. Oh, great, I've finally snapped. I always knew I was crazy and this just confirms everything. I slump into my seat and just stare at Discord, waiting for my straight jacket. I never knew insanity could be so oddly funny. I begin to giggle. "I've gone nuts, haven't I?"

"No, Mr. Spriggs. I assure you sanity is quite firmly settled within you. I've actually toned down a bit so I don't have to watch you slither too far into the depths of my domain. No, you are very much needed by a certain young changeling." Discord pours a cup of tea and offers it to me. I accept and find I have a living goldfish in my cup.

I point it out to my host, but find he has disappeared.

"Now," says his voice from my teacup. I look down and it's him as the goldfish leaning on the rim and buffing a fin against his chest. "We've got a little bit of time for me to explain a few things to you as well as some things I'm expecting to happen in the near future. Are you paying attention?"

"You're a goldfish."

"Good! It's nice to see that you are!" My host grins through his fish lips. "Are you familiar with the events leading up to the wedding?"

"Wedding?"

"You know, Chrysalis taking Cadence's place, changelings trying to take over Canterlot, reasons unexplained and lots of plot holes and whatnot."

"Yes. I know it."

Discord frowns suddenly, blinking from my teacup. Startled, I look around and see he's dressed all in black like an undertaker from the nineteenth century, complete with stove pipe hat. He's got his thumbs hooked in his gray vest beneath his heavy black suit jacket. "She's the only one to survive the whole debacle. All of her changelings in her hive died that day, save her."

"What do you mean? Her whole race is dead?"

"Not her race, my good man." Discord digs up a monocle and grins down at me as he puts it over his left eye. "Just her hive. Well, changelings call their societies hives, but it's far more complicated than that." He scrunches his face, discerning my disposition. "Are you all right, old man?"

I'll admit, I'm fighting to urge to hyperventilate. I want to scream. I want to flail my arms and run around in a circle like Beaker from the Muppet Show. I could probably sound like him if I really wanted to and it would be so appropriate. I'm in a pocket universe with the Spirit of Chaos, who's not supposed to exist and all sorts of 'toned down' weird things are happening. "I might be freaking out," I manage to blurt out as calmly as possible. It doesn't sound very calm to me. "You were saying something about my daughter's hive being wiped out?"

"What a brave fellow," Discord murmurs to himself in amusement. To me he grins and replies, "Why, yes. I found her wandering the wilderness, her mind gone due to her link to the hive shattered thanks to so many dead changelings all at once. Her defeat was complete. Worse of all, she could not share the fate of those she led to their deaths. So, she did the only sensible thing she could do."

I interrupt his monologue. "She went mad, didn't she?" I'm still holding my teacup. I don't know why. Setting it on the table, I fold my hands on my lap and sit up straight. "Let me guess. You reversed her aging and sent her to Earth so I could raise her and give her a second chance."

"Actually," he says, doffing his hat and scratching an itchy scalp, "you weren't supposed to receive her. She was supposed to go to a couple without children of their own and she was supposed to be still in the egg and it sure as heck wasn't my idea to bring her to this perfectly chaotic and barbaric world."

I'm crestfallen. "Oh. You mean that storm she arrived on was a mistake? I don't understand."

Discord wags a finger at me with a tsk. "Of course you don't understand! You're mind is too simple to comprehend such things as pink party ponies hitting the wrong button at the absolute wrong time. 'Don't touch it' I say and she's asking me 'What, you mean don't touch this?' while she hits the button. I was rather put out with Pinkie Pie, but I quickly got over it since she's so random and this bit of chaos happened. I love it when a plan goes haywire!" He's smug as he speaks, as if what he just described tickled him pink. Reliving the moment has put a hitch in his step as he skips around in a circle telling his story. "Absolutely marvelous how this all turned out! Chaos at its finest!"

"Huh?" I'm completely confused and baffled.

"Exactly." He grins, the monocle dropping from his eye, twirling in his finger by its length of chain.

"Are you here to take her?" My voice feels hollow as I force the words out.

"Moi? Split up such a lovely family?" Discord is aghast at such a notion, placing a hand over his heart. "What do you think I am, some heartless monster? For you to even suggest such a thing! I've spent years watching you. I even flubbed some numbers and dabbled with the odds so you could raise her in comfort!" He's actually becoming livid now. "The insult! The nerve! The cake!"

As if on cue, there's the sound of a ding in his vest. He opens it and pulls out a freshly baked chocolate cake, already frosted and adorned and bearing 'Congratulations on Your Little Bundle of Joy!' upon it in very neat pink cursive script.

"Care for a slice?" he asks, setting it on the table as his vest slams shut with a flick of his wrist. When I shake my head, he serves himself up a slice. "No, no, my little human. I'll let nasty old Tia come and tear you both apart. But not to worry, not to worry!" He leaves the slice and eats the rest of the cake in one gulp. "I have a plan. Purely chaotic and purely in favor of keeping you and your adopted daughter together."

"Hold on a sec. Mind if I try to put logic to all this?" He nods, sitting down and resting his chin on his knuckles of both hands, elbows on the table. I'm still not comprehending. This is too much for me to digest in such a short amount of time. "So you're trying to keep us together?"

"Yes."

"You rigged the lottery so I'd win?"

"Yes."

"Why? I mean, Chryssie's one of the greatest blessings I've ever had in my life and I'll always be thankful for her."

"Why you?" Discord asks. "So you don't buy the little story of Chryssie going somewhere else for a normal family and all that?"

"No, I don't."

He does not move, his eyes locked on my, half open as his ever present grin alone seems to be enough for him to measure my worth. "Why not?"

"Why not?" I echo.

"Why not?" Discord agrees. He steeples his fingers together as he lifts his head up and drums the tips together. "I spun the chaotic wheel and your name came up. Why not indeed! I could have chosen anyone anywhere on any world, but instead, I let random chance decide who would be the lucky recipient of one changeling filly." Both pointer fingers level at me from the steepled position. "You won. Or lost. However you wish to view it."

I open my mouth, another question on my lips. It dies as Discord's face is suddenly inches from my own, his Cheshire cat grin curling upon on itself.

"Why, you wonder? Why am I doing this? Why would I remove a creature from one world, regress her age to that of a toddler and then deposit her in the middle of a storm near the house of a then drunkard?" He covers his mouth as though the secret is so good and so juicy he wants to keep it for himself. Naturally, he can't, wanting to share with someone his little achievement he is clearly proud of.

Discord grabs me by the shoulders and shakes me with surprising strength.

"Chaos! Chaos in the face of order!" I'm released and he's standing tall again, prim and proper as he stares down his nose at me. "Well, that and I made a bit of a promise I would use my magic for good, for whatever good that is." Instead of the monocle, the end of the chain bears a mini donut he places over his eye.

"How does this apply to Chrysalis, my daughter?" I'm suddenly worried about her. "Is she all right? Does she know I'm gone?" Struggling to get to my feet, Discord places a hand on my chest and gives a simple, effortless push. I slump back into my seat.

"This is my little slice of heaven. Time has no meaning here. Have chaos, will travel! Sit, relax, take a load off! I'll set you home safe and sound when our business is concluded. Your little Chryssie will be none the wiser."

"With all due respect Discord, you scare the shit out of me."

He's taken aback by my blunt statement. "I? Scare you? A war veteran? Perfectly understandable. I get that a lot with the ponies and what have you still. At least you've got the intestinal fortitude to admit it. I think I like you, Mike. You and I are going to get along splendidly." Discord pats me on the shoulder. "But please don't soil yourself. That would be a bit awkward on your part, don't you think?"

A sudden thought occurred to me. "How come I didn't recognize you at the gas station? I mean, I know who you are now, but I couldn't recognize you at all other than a vague feeling I've seen you before."

"It's simple, really," Discord explains with a shrug, shaking his head slightly. "The fact of the matter is I didn't want you to recognize me. A little magic for a little fuzz in the memory, just enough to leave you wondering. Besides, what would you have done if you knew who I was then?

I stare at him, not really sure what I would have done those years ago. Maybe go crazy? As I wonder this, he reaches into one of my ears and yanks out a very large cotton ball. He eats it after a moment of pondering its perfect roundness.

"Yes, you would have," he says with a smirk and rolling of those weird eyes. "Not that I'm reading your thoughts, but you're an easy man to read when you reflect on your past."

Again, I open my mouth to speak, but a long finger is pressed against my lips.

"Shh! Don't question. Just accept it! Go with the flow, my little hairless ape. The ride's not over yet. We've still got the last big drop on this roller coaster ride. Then you'll get off the ride, brush off the vomit from your shirt, and go about your humdrum boring little human life." He turns to walk away, coattails flaring out dramatically as he spins on a heel. A finger stabs upward in the air from his right fist. "Or!" He freezes.

I venture at his offering. "Or?"

He half turns, his grin reminding me of a shark's. "Or, there may be another way to resolve this eventual end to this little slice of life."

"How?"

"Secret! Not telling!" He literally zips his mouth shut as he whirls to face me, spreading his arms wide. The zipper is turned up like some metallic smile, abnormally large on his narrow face. "I'll just say when the time comes, you will be given choices."

How is he doing that without a mouth? Oh, the zipper was flapping like lips now. "What sort of choices?" I ask, mesmerized.

"Oh, I don't know. I'll think of something between now and that day not too far down this little highway of life." Discord rubs his chin, contemplating me with a superiority he knows he has over me. "Until then, Mike! Take care and figure out something about that daughter of yours. Might I suggest ice packets for the heat?" He grins, snaps his fingers. Yet again, there is a flash of white and I suddenly find myself on my couch.

I sit there in mute shock, the whole conversation with basically the God of Chaos still sorting itself in my brain. What I register was Discord had sent Chrysalis to Earth after finding her wandering the wilderness, mad with grief from losing her whole hive from a decision she had made. The guilt must have been enormous. Her burden must have been a weight crushing her sanity. A mental image of her dark form stumbling through a wild forest, nothing more than an animal glaring out from beneath a tattered mane flickered with stark clarity into my thoughts.

Was she really reduced to a raving lunatic? Had the attack on Canterlot reduced her to nothing more than a crazed beast? Was Discord telling me the truth? What was the truth?

I go upstairs, knock on Chryssie's door. "Are you decent?"

No answer.

I swear to God I hope she didn't read a certain fanfic and get any ideas.

I knock again and test the door knob. It's unlocked. "Chryssie? I'm coming in."

I guess I was expecting her gone, the window open, or something dramatic. I find her asleep on her bed, a queen barely large enough for her long legs for when she wants to stretch out. She's curled up in a ball, reminding me of the first night she was in my home, curled up in the blanket and wet. So long ago. So many precious years. I can see her sides rise and fall slowly, her face calm and gentle. Her mane is splayed about her neck and face, falling over her shoulders and spreading over her blankets. Her nose is curled up into her tail. Quietly I sit next to her neck and place a hand on her withers.

Her eyes open, flutter, seek me out immediately. "Daddy?" Chryssie flings her hooves around me, wanting comfort.

She's too big to hold like when she was little, but I do my best, letting her crawl into my lap. Picture a man trying to hold a Shetland pony on his lap. Chryslis is too big for father - daughter cuddles, but I'll do anything for my little girl to make her smile again.

Pretty ridiculous, isn't it?

The summer fades to fall, giving up its heat grudgingly. Chrysalis finally finishes my grandpa's Mustang. I hear it fire up from the house as I'm doing the dishes. I peer outside and see an unpainted muscle car from the last century roll out smoothly with an engine purring like a purring kitten. The bare metal gleams in the sunlight of the late afternoon. The grin on my daughter's face is full of triumph and accomplishment. After five years, she's finished her big project. There's just one thing I find disturbingly odd.

She's hovering over the roof of the car and driving it with her magic.

I go outside, my hands on my hips as I'm grinning at her while she lands, turns the car off and struts around the hood.

"That's not how you drive a car, young lady," I say to her.

She blows a raspberry at me. "I built it. I can drive how I want to." I've never given her a lesson.

Chryssie then spends the next hour showing me everything she did to the car, bubbling over with excitement as she lets me sit behind the wheel and fire the beast up. It sounds amazing and I find myself feeling like a kid again.

"What color do you want to make it?" I ask her as I turn the engine off.

"Black," she replies with a grin. "I want to see her in black."

I raise my brows. "Her?"

"I've got a name for her." She suddenly becomes shy. "It's Twilight."

"You still have that stuffed toy I got you for your first Christmas, don't you?" I'd almost forgotten about that thing. Come to think of it, Twilight Sparkle has a permanent place of honor at the head of my daughter's bed on top of her pillows.

"I identify with her, Daddy. We're both eggheads."

I lean over and give her a peck on the cheek. "You're smarter than me, pumpkin. I want you to be happy. You've made your old man happy by being a wonderful daughter. I want you to always remember that."

Chryssie gives me a weird look. "Why so sentimental?" she asks me, tilting her head to one side. I can sense she's got something else on her mind she's carefully concealing from me.

"Can't a father tell his daughter he loves her?" I grin, not wanting her to sense the growing fear within me. "I've never been so proud as to have you be a part of my life."

"Daddy, you're weirding me out." She puts a hoof to my forehead. "Are you feeling all right?" The smile through her fangs is always warming to me, even if its a bit frightening. I'm used to them. Her smile fades. "It's coming soon, isn't it?"

"I don't know. Soon, I think."

What's sadder? Knowing one day your daughter will be taken away from you or having it happen to you suddenly and out of the blue? I think it's more terrifying knowing one day a goddess will come before you and take your child away and there's nothing you can do about it. If I could I would fight her. Would Discord help me? Probably not. I get the feeling that's the last thing he wants to do. He's up to something, but even though he's supposed to be the Lord of Chaos, I really don't think facing her is something in his best interests. There's a certain friend of his I would imagine would not be too thrilled to see him go back on his word.

I watched all five seasons with my daughter in a marathon session on a whim when she announced she was doing that in her room. I invited her downstairs so we could watch it together. She was surprised to hear me suggest the idea as she thought I was adamantly against the show. It was her private little paradise and it gave her a chance to learn a bit about the world she was from. I suspect she was also studying Twilight Sparkle and her friends for reasons I would classify as belonging under the category of survival needs. Season five exhibited yet another changeling attack by a different changeling kingdom, resulting in a four episode arch surprisingly mature for a children's show. This changeling queen was different, her name different. The details escaped me as I simply watched my princess - a teenager - gobble up the show with the enthusiasm of filly seeing it for the first time.

I don't know what makes less sense; Discord having a hand in Chryssie coming to this world or her having My Little Pony as her most favorite animated show ever.

Yes, she is clutching her Twilight Sparkle doll as we're watching. This was going to take a few days. As long as I get to watch my football games, I really don't care. The Bears are looking good this year, having made the Super Bowl last year, but falling in overtime.

"Daddy, I'll be right back," she says suddenly, getting up and darting upstairs. "I've got a surprise for you!" Her voice sounds from the top of the stairs. Chrysalis can move fast when she chooses to and only when she's excited about something. I wonder what it is.

I can hear her thumping around in her room, drawers opening and closing. Did she get me a present? Shopping online is the only real way she can get the things she wants. I've even let her have her own computer in her room. Being a changeling, she's naturally discreet in her actions. The instinct to go unnoticed and remain hidden seems to be bred into her. I really don't mind it. The strangest and most profound aspect of our relationship has always been the bond of our mind links. We never established anything past an empathic symbiosis, but the trust we have in each other has been almost as strong as the love we have for each other. I really don't think changelings can get past feeling empathy for each other. Does she think of me as a changeling?

I think I did right by her. I also think I did right for myself.

Chrysalis comes down the stairs while I'm watching Pinkie Pie sing a song about how to make a sad filly happy. It's sort of catchy and I'm not paying attention to the figure appearing from the hallway where the stairs are.

"Daddy?" It's my daughter's voice, but there's something odd about it. It's a single voice, not a disjointed one.

My head turns and I see a pale, slender form standing at the opposite end of the couch, harlequin eyes glowing softly with apprehensive shyness. Chrysalis has a button nose, turned upwards slightly and not too small, not too big. Her pink lips are pursed in a small bow, parted slightly as she breathes with worry of how she appears. She's halfway between five and six feet. A simple pale green dress hangs loosely about her body and she's unsteady on her feet. She has to use the armrest to keep steady. Walking on human legs is a new thing to her and the embarrassed smile she carries tells me she won't be making this a frequent event. Her hair is still the same lovely shade of teal, long and straight and hanging down to her waist.

Chrysalis makes a beautiful human girl.

Inconceivable!

She thinks she's done something wrong. "I'm sorry," she says, misreading my gaping and not sensing the sudden welling of pride I'm feeling.

I stand up awkwardly, looking at my humanized daughter. How long did she practice in order to get everything down so perfectly? Why are my eyes wet? I've got my pumpkin in my arms, enfolding her in a hug. Arms she doesn't know how to use somehow find their way around me. It's a precious gift.

"Thank you," I whisper into her ear. "You know how to surprise your old man, you know that?"

She smiles. "Don't get used to this, Daddy." Chryssie sniffs in mock bravado. "Human bodies are still soft and weak and not very sturdy." A giggle escapes as she plops unceremoniously on the couch, nearly taking me with her as she loses her balance. The camera phone is lifted with her magic, her eyes glowing. I wondered if she didn't need the horn to focus her magic. Instead, she's using her eyes. She picks up the camera phone and leans into me. She snaps a couple of photos of us on the couch, giggling and happy, living in the moment.

"I don't think I could, take it," I reply with a grin. "I'd have to beat the boys off you with a very large bat."

My daughter's expression becomes devious. "Maybe I should stick to this form and find me a nice boy. You'd like me with a boyfriend, wouldn't you, Daddy?" I'm reading between the lines at her innocent little smile she's taking this into serious consideration. She sees buttons and she's pushing them to get a reaction from me. Predictably, I growl like a grumpy grizzly bear and make the proper threats and innuendos in regards to lusty males prowling after my baby. I bring up baseball bats, crowbars, battery cables, and other assorted torture devices I can think of on the spot. I do my best to sound convincing.

Remember when I mentioned I might have to protect the world from Chrysalis? This was what I was talking about.

She reads not only my face, but my concern and quickly backpedals verbally. "I'm kidding! Jeez, you'd think I was going to suck the love from a poor guy and leaving him twitching in my wake." Her following laughter suggests otherwise.

"Chryssie, the way you look right now," I tell her dryly, "you don't have to suck the love from a boy to leave him twitching in your wake. You are breathtakingly beautiful as a human. Supermodels would kill to look as good as you."

"Do you really think so?" There's a catch in her voice as she tilts her head just so, letting her hair spill over her shoulder and batting her eyes at me. Helen of Troy comes to mind. I don't mean to brag, but my daughter had the face Homer wrote about in the Iliad.

The rest of the evening she remains in her human form, then quietly goes upstairs to change back at the end of a the last disk of season three. Without a word she returns down the stairs on wing, her experience as a human a soft smile on her changeling face. Using her magic, she puts in the first disc of the next season while at the same time getting herself comfortable next to me. The smile becomes a little sad, but only briefly when she catches me studying her.

One late fall afternoon, there is a knock at the front door. Chrysalis felt it first. It wasn't the door she felt, but the presence of something powerful, ancient, and full of magic. Whoever it is makes not effort to conceal herself. She's deliberate in filling the vicinity with her presence. the fear my daughter has is like nothing I've felt before. She's suddenly afraid for her life, the being approaching practically a goddess. I see her eyes as she turns to me instinctively for protection, seeking out her father.

"Be brave," my voice carries to her ears, being forced out as I try to take solace in them for myself. "We'll at least be gracious hosts."

She nods quietly. I can feel the dread coming from her. We both know what's coming.

I go to the door and open it. The alabaster goddess of the sun is there, her magenta eyes kindly, yet cautious as she has to tilt her head up slightly. The light of morning fills her ethereal mane. She is regal, an eternal mother, ever loving and ever understanding. I can see the centuries in her ageless eyes, forever youthful on the outside, yet probably at least as old as the Great Pyramids. She is the oldest living thing I have ever seen and she is also the most beautiful.

"Are you Michael Spriggs?" she asks in a melodic voice, soft yet strong.

"I am. You must be Princess Celestia," I smile and pull the door wide. "I've been waiting for you a long time. Won't you come in?"

She hesitates, taking a moment to study me for deceptions. Her smile never wavers. "I am not alone, Mr. Spriggs."

I can see behind her six familiar figures. "The Harmonies, I presume?"

Again, she's taken aback at what I know. "How?"

"Discord," I say with a shrug, as if the name could answer all the questions on her mind with a simple word.

That gets a reaction from her. "Oh dear," she whispers, rolling her eyes. With a gentle toss of her head, she tells the six behind her, "Come, my little ponies. Let us not let the cold air into this man's house."

I step aside as she enters into my home, her beloved ponies close behind her. I can feel her aura, the warmth, and the love she has. In comes Twilight Sparkle, a princess and unchanged since ascending to an alicorn, the lavender mare who is most beloved by my daughter, who even now clutches her childhood toy like a frightened child. After her comes Applejack, then Pinkie Pie, Rarity, Rainbow Dash, and the always shy Fluttershy who cannot bear to look up at me. I lead her to the living room and turn as the Main Six enter. I get various looks, mostly curious as they exchange pleasantries with me. They haven't seen my daughter, who awaits in mute silence, her eyes darting to each of the ponies entering the room. She notes they are all wearing their necklaces.

Her fear goes up even more, hugging her Twilight Sparkle doll closer to her chest as though it was a talisman to ward off evil. Her mane conceals most of her eyes, but she blinks and holds her ground bravely. They stare at Chrysalis once they can't help but notice her. The silence is deafening.

"Chryssie, don't be rude. Offer our guests drinks." I give her a nudge and smile at our guests. "Please ladies, have a seat."

"Yes, Daddy," she replies, then smiles shyly. "Does anyone want something to drink?"

She's greeted with wide-eyed stares and a hanging jaw or two. I imagine if I had wanted to, I could have invented the game of pony tipping right then and there. Celestia loses her composure for a brief moment. She either wants to laugh or cry, I can't tell, but her eyes widen for a brief moment.

"Why don't you ladies go in the kitchen and see if there's anything you like to drink in there. Chryssie can give you all a tour of the property."

I now have eight pair of eyes on me. Seven are wide while Celestia considers me carefully, almost as if reassessing me. Was she judging me? Had she already judged my daughter?

"Daddy?" snorts Rainbow Dash, the first to speak. "Why is the Queen of the Changelings calling you daddy?" She's suspicious, going into a defensive position and flaring her wings out aggressively.

"There's apple juice," I offer, ignoring her rudeness and smiling to all of them. "Orange juice, purple stuff. I think there's also some soda."

"Go ahead, my little ones," Celestia says warmly. "No harm will come to any of you under this roof. I wish to speak to Mr. Spriggs for the moment. Apparently Discord spoke truth in this matter after all."

The file into the kitchen, my daughter leading the way. They again look at me, save for Fluttershy, each one with their own thoughts of me hidden behind the expressions. Only Applejack could be taken at face value from what I could remember, being the representation of honesty. She eyed me suspiciously at first, but then tossed me an open wink.

"Thirteen years," I say to Celestia. "I've had her for thirteen years and I've raised her as a daughter. Are you here to take my only child away from me? I've already seen one pass before her time. Are you going to break a father's heart for a second time?"

Unruffled, she nodded. "I am. I am sorry, but she cannot remain on this world."

I sit down in my favorite spot on the couch, regarding her with a sense of calm surprising even myself. There's a pause as we listen to the girls talk to each other. Chrysalis' voice mingles as they seem to be warming up to each other. I think they realize she is not full grown, that there's something different about her. My daughter is not as large as Celestia. She's perhaps as large as Luna, whom I'm surprised has not come. Even as I think of her, two glasses of juice float from the kitchen to me and my immortal guest.

"I see." I wait until she takes her glass before sipping mine.

Celestia tries to read my actions, my face. She sips delicately at her drink. As a diplomat, she's probably an expert at reading faces. "You sound rather serene even though I've just confirmed what I assume are your fears."

"I've had thirteen years to prepare for this. I just have one question for you in regards to your plans for my child." I fully intend to verbally bludgeon the fact Chrysalis is my daughter over the Sun Goddess' head the entire time she is under my roof.

She considers this. "I assume you received her as a filly?"

"Yes. Courtesy of our mutual chaotic friend." I smirk, remembering both times we met. "He told me he met Chrysalis as a wandering lunatic." The girls had already gone outside, taking their drinks with them. There was still tension, but even the suspicious Rainbow Dash and Applejack were realizing they were dealing with a mare slightly younger than them.

Celestia stares at her glass sadly. "It's true."

"She's lonely here," I say after a moment. "I want my daughter happy. As much as I would love to see grandkids, it's not going to happen here."

"You're ready for this," she observes.

"I've dreaded this, Princess." I tilt my head towards the direction of the back door. We can both hear hoofsteps heading towards the barn. "I thought she'd want to show off her Mustang."

"Mustang? You have a wandering pony here, too?" Celestia is giving me a slightly worried expression.

"No, it's a machine humans use to move from one place to another quickly," I explain. "What will you do with Chrysalis when you return to Equestria? How do I know she won't spend the rest of her life in some dungeon, in chains, and forever a prisoner?"

She frowns, seeing I am serious. "I cannot stand trial one who no longer has the memories of a different adult. I am also aware changelings have different needs from regular ponies, so I am willing to take that under consideration."

"So you still intend to punish her?" I tense as I pose the question. A quick drink from my glass to steady myself. It does little to relax me.

"No. It is not necessary. You are linked to her, are you not?" She poses her query, then sips from her drink with delicate ease.

We settle down and have a rather pleasant conversation. She knows I don't want to let Chrysalis go, but I have to if she's going to really be happy. As we go into the details, I discover I won't be allowed to even visit my little girl. Knowing it as a possibility over the years always had a spot for maybe to wedge itself in there in the form of some wild hope. That hope is dashed by the firm tone and my heart slowly crumbles as we speak. Celestia asks me about my daughter no longer with us. I show her the locket I've worn around my neck. I tell her about the accident and how I wasn't the only parent to lose a child that day.

There's a catch in Celestia's throat as she gently tells me she is fully aware to see someone dear to her pass before she felt was their time. I can imagine a lot of somebodies, considering how long she has lived. "I understand your loss," she tells me simply. "I can also see you carry other burdens on your shoulders."

"Don't we all?" I can feel a tear rolling down my cheek. I'm thinking soon my pumpkin will be gone and I'll be alone. Do I have the strength to pick myself up in the aftermath of another severing of a father from his child?

The girls return, each having seemed to have warmed up to Chrysalis a little better. She's chatty, glad to have someone other than her daddy to talk to for a change. I'm not at all surprised she's taken a shine to Twilight Sparkle as the two enter into the house discussing magic. Chrysalis is already pining for lessons from her favorite pony. There's one thing I won't be able to help her with. I want her to reach her full potential.

It's for the best, I tell myself. Chryssie sees my face. She knows it's time.

"Can we have a minute?" I ask Celestia. She nods and I lead my daughter into the kitchen.

"Daddy," she begins, "I don't want to go."

I've got my arms around her, embracing her fiercely. "You have to. You'll never be happy here. I want you to have kids of your own one day and that won't happen here. You'll make a good mom one day. You'll be a queen, too."

"I don't want to be a queen," she sobs into my shoulder, exploding at last.

"You're already my princess." I'm trying to be strong for her, but the dam bursts.

For a long time, we just hold each other, not talking. We let our emotions mingle. Our bond was probably the strongest I've ever felt in that moment. I'll be damned if I let Celestia take that away from my girl.

"Go get your things," I tell her as I hold her at arm's length. "I need to ask Celestia something."

She nods and goes to do that, her head hanging a little as she drags her hooves a bit. As she starts upstairs, I note Twilight Sparkle offer to help. Chryssie brightens a bit.

None of the other ponies have spoken to me, I realize. Under normal circumstances, I would not have minded speaking to them to sate my curiosities, but my focus was on their matriarch, the Sun Goddess, or whatever Celestia was to them.

"Don't take her memories," I say to her. "She can't remember what it was like for her before she came."

"I am aware of her past after the failed invasion," Celestia assures me with a nod. "Discord was kind enough to inform me. What he did not bother to tell me was how she wound up here on your world until after the fact. With the time differential between our worlds, well. I think you get the idea. We have not changed much while you raised a daughter. I must say you did a remarkable job, given the circumstances. No," she adds with a smile, "she should treasure what you gave her. As you should treasure what she gave you."

"We'll take care of Chryssie!" chirps the pink pony known as Pinkie Pie. "I'll throw her a welcome party and make sure she makes lots and lots of friends! Don't you worry about a thing, Mr. Strange Pale Hairless Monkey!"

"Pinkie Pie Promise?" I offer skeptically.

She does the whole thing with the chant and the motions with her hooves, culminating with her sticking a hoof in one of her eyes. It makes me smile despite the gloomy mood. "And I never break one of my own promises!" This is true. I've never seen her break one.

"Can you all be her friends? Look after her? Help her grow and discover herself?" I glower down at them like a drill sergeant seeing fresh recruits for the first time. Even Rainbow Dash drops her tough attitude and nods meekly. "She's my princess. She's my daughter. I've raised her to value what she has and to earn what she does not. If she's wrong on something, tell her. Show her. Teach her. I've done everything I can. I don't think I could count on any other force in the universe than the bearers of Harmony themselves to show my Chrysalis what it means to have love and friendship. Can I count on you all?"

I make them all agree to my terms.

Pinkie again speaks. "You don't have a thing to worry about! She's in good hooves!" She's so bubbly, she brightens the room with her positive attitude and infectious smile.

Chrysalis flutters down the stairs with a few things. I can hear her hooves touch the hardwood floor. Twilight's voice is reassuring, my daughter's pensive. I don't know what they're talking about. I find I've picked up her plush doll. I'm not one for goodbyes. I feel I've already said mine. I can feel nothing but love and the pangs of loss already from Chryssie. She remains strong for me, for herself, and in front of the ponies. I think she especially did not want to let Celestia see her cry. The fear she held in the presence of the alicorn ruler was still there, but she would not let it conquer her. I hand her the plushie and give her one last hug.

"I love you, my little Chryssie," I say in her ear.

"I love you too, daddy."

I step back, hands jammed in my pockets as Celestia and the six gather around my daughter.

"Fare you well, Michael Spriggs," Celestia says to me. "I wish you peace and happiness."

I nod, there's a flash of light, and they're gone.

There's a moment of silence. It's as if the world died and I'm the last human left standing. I scream in pain at the loss, it suddenly looming before me how profound not having my daughter with me, exposing my broken heart to the uncaring room. Everything comes out, my second child is gone, and I did nothing to stop it. I'm on my knees, wanting to deny my loss, but there it is. Worst of all, I can no longer feel her. There's a void there where her connection to me once was. I feel naked, exposed. I feel alone.

So very alone.

I feel as though I have failed another daughter.

What good am I?

After a while, I find myself going through the photo album I've collected over the years. It's been sitting on the coffee table, its centerpiece. Maybe I should have shown Celestia how Chryssie had grown. Somehow, it would have just made things harder. I was allowed to keep everything to remind me of her. What was the point of taking them? Celestia knew I would always have my memories. She was not going to erase the years from my life and leave me with a void to fill. That would have been crueler than what had just happened. I suppose I could have asked to go, but the expression on her face suggested such a thing could not happen. With a sad, heavy heart, I remember Chryssie growing, going from filly to mare in the progression of photos in an album we spent over a week putting together. I go to the bookshelf where her baby book is kept and pull it out, slowly running my eyes over the pages. Within them, I find a teal lock of her hair, pressed flat as a sort of book mark. I touch it lovingly, an echo of a smile tugging at my lips at the fond memory. At least I have that.

"I thought you would remember the 'or', my little human," chuckles a familiar voice of superiority dryly. I turn, surprised, having forgotten about Discord as the moment was the only thing on my mind. He's at my kitchen table, apparently having just gone through the refrigerator. An enormous sandwich grows before my eyes as he haphazardly throws anything he can get his hands upon it.

"Discord!" I hiss, staggering to my feet, my hands balled into fists. "All of this is your fault!"

He stares at me, his face a mask reminding me of the Guy Fox mask from the movie V for Vendetta. "Yes. Yes, it is my fault, isn't it? You probably would not be taking this so hard right now, having spent almost your entire time with your little changeling preparing for this moment." Discord assumes an air of sympathy. I can't tell if it's genuine or mocking. He continues, "You see, as a father you hate seeing your little girl go like this, especially when you know for the moment you can't ever hope to see her again. It's even worse if you're part of the hive."

"Part of the hive?" I echo dumbly. "What the hell does that mean?" Why am I still trying to desperately reconnect with my daughter?

"It means exactly what I said it means. The moment Chrysalis connected with your mind and impressed herself upon you, you became a sort of royalty in changeling society. Usually it's the oldest queen who assumes the role. New queens can come from any family and are quite rare in their own right. Once they are born, the current queen takes her under her wing and becomes her mentor. A hive can have many junior queens. You were, in her mind, not only her father, but her queen - or in this case - king." Discord eyeballs his steadily growing snack eagerly, shifting to scrutiny as he tops it all off with a green olive.

He's got everything in that thing: bread, lettuce, roast beef, sliced turkey, tomato, pickles, crackers, fish (fish?), guacamole, spicy mustard, ketchup, mayonnaise, a copy of People magazine (seriously?), and lots of other things I can't quite figure out.

"Are you saying I've been turned into a changeling?" I suggest in disbelief.

He pauses, almost ready to bite into his strange stack he assumes looks delicious. "In a way, you have."

"How?"

The Lord of Chaos holds up a finger and shoves the whole massive sandwich into his throat in one go with the other hand. His mouth opens impossibly wide and ever past that as he simply hooks the pile of food and hauls it towards his awaiting maw. After a long moment of chewing, rolling his eyes from the pleasure he was getting from his meal, Discord swallows. It's like watching Shaggy eat. It's morbidly fascinating to watch when it's not a cartoon doing it on television. I shudder, making a face.

"A changeling princess instinctively latches on to whomever she views as her parent. She can establish such a link with any creature for that role. You're the obvious factor proving this. Over the years, the bond between you has grown to the point where you two almost knew exactly what the other was thinking. But it's an emotional bond, one few changelings share even within the hive. It's very special and very rare. I argued with good old Tia after I told her about what I did you were going to need to come to Equestria or else the same thing is going to happen. Her stance is creatures from their relative universes need to stay in the dimension they were born in, as was agreed long ago by beings much higher on the pay scale than us lowly immortals. It's that age-old argument of maintaining balance across space-time and all that stuff. Not really all that relevant anymore, if you ask me," he snorts, belches, and grins.

A sense of dread begins to grow within me. "What do you mean by 'same thing'?" I also blatantly ignore the implications behind his mentioning of other beings more powerful than him or Celestia, for that matter.

"Without her connection to you, Chrysalis will eventually revert to what she was like before, having lost the love you were giving her. In time, she'll be like a starving animal and will turn on her new found friends and be right back in the same position that lead her to her debacle at Canterlot."

I have a mental image of my daughter going savage. "Are you suggesting I go to Equestria?"

"The choice is completely yours, Mike. Celestia won't be pleased at all seeing you in her realm and will no doubt try to send you back. I may have a way around that, but it will require making certain changes." He's looking me up and down as he says this. Discord seems eager to please. Too eager.

"Why should I trust you?"

"I'm not suggesting you do. I'm merely offering you a second door as opposed to Option 'A'." Discord licks his fingers, one by one. "Of course, you could be absolutely boring and just stay here and wallow in this misery without the crutch of your daughter stemming the madness she's kept at bay for all these years. It would amuse me to see you in nothing but your combat boots and underwear beneath a helmet chasing butterflies in your yard during the summer. There would really be a lack of constructive character building there. Wouldn't you agree?"

I blink, shaking my head. "Discord, is this something like a second chance you're suggesting?"

"Do you have anything pressing here in this world? The only thing your family is interested in this world is your money."

No, I don't really. I've even prepared for this, having one night long ago thought of the impossible possibility. I never did tell her about it. The wild hope grows within me as the emptiness in my mind yearns for that connection again. My God, it feels like an addiction! "All right, Discord, you magnificent son of a bitch. Tell me what I need to do."

The grin on his face is absolutely frightening. Rubbing his hands together, he cackles merrily like some mad scientist, "Oh, we'll do this my way, Mr. Spriggs. I'll go more into detail as we go along. You are going to absolutely feel young by the time I'm done with you!" And suddenly I'm feeling as though I've just made a deal with the Devil.

Yay me.

Author's Note

I'm much happier with this ending. It's a sad story. Needs to end with a bit of hope on the horizon.

Part VIII

I am Weighed, I am Measured

There comes a time, thief, when the jewels cease to sparkle, when the gold loses its luster, when the throne room becomes a prison, and all that is left is a father's love for his child. ~ King Osric, Conan the Barbarian

I'm not ready to let her go yet. Obviously this is the case as I am about to entrust my fate to the whims of the Lord of Chaos Discord himself. Why am I not content to stay here, wealthy, where my family is? We may be distant from each other, each one living their own separate lives, but we do like to keep in touch. Why? What am I so driven to follow my adopted daughter into a world that by all rights should only exist in the imagination and on story boards? Dammit, why?

She's my daughter.

Simple answers to a complex dilemma are in themselves perplexing with the ease at which they present the solution. It may be an illogical form of reasoning to be sure, but it is there none the less. I'll admit, I'm simply not happy here. Money means nothing when all it can do is act as a band-aid to what ails within the heart. I understand the mental scars have started to resurface in the days since Chrysalis was taken back to Equestria. I understand Celestia did not want me to go because I simply am not of that world. I understand why she brought the six mares with her. She had expected a battle, a fight with a queen. She had expected to find Chrysalis in a less than compliant mood, preparing for the worst.

Discord gave me a few days to think it over before committing to his mad little scheme of me going there, to the magical world of ponies, dragons, griffons, and the other denizens of fantasy and imagination.

I had dedicated most of my adult life to raising a changeling, a cute little filly into a beautiful young mare. I had seen her scrape her knees, cry from dropping a glass on the floor, laugh when a butterfly landed on her nose, drool on the couch when she fell asleep while watching a movie with me. I punished her for breaking one of my grandmother's old china dishes, swatting her fair and square on the rump and sending her to her room. I've yelled at her, hugged her, loved her, made all the hurts go away, taught her right from wrong...

Chryssie was - is - stubborn as a child. Willful. Independent. Wonderful. When she was in the mood to resist my expectations, she had been very good at it. Our wills matched and I usually won. She tested me, I tested her. We got on each others nerves. She even yelled back at me when she thought she was in the right. I've apologized to her for being wrong, far less than she to me. She grew, I grew. We loved each other. Oh, there was the typical resentment I assume daughters have towards their fathers when they didn't get their way. She had the last laugh as her daddy was firmly wrapped around her little hoof. Or horn. Whichever.

I'm sitting in her room, specifically on her bed. It feels so empty. My eyes constantly wander around to the various objects; the toys and books and other little worldly things reminding me of her, the past as it was, how it felt it would never end. Yet, in the back of my mind always in those years, I knew. I made sure she knew. I prepared her the best I could. I never told her there might be a very slim possibility I might chase after her. I wanted to, but something prevented me. Perhaps it was the fear my words would simply be that; words with nothing to brace them against.

As much of a challenge it was to bring up a changeling in a world of humans, I'd do it again in a heartbeat. Never once did I ever see a hint of the premise she was ever evil to begin with, as hinted in the show. Of course, she had her own opinions on things and we would spend hours discussing our views as she became older and more interested in engaging in those sort of things. I trust I have prepared her as best I can, yet I also feel as though Discord's words are having an affect on me.

Those were his words. Was he implying what I taught her was for nothing? Those years trying to mold her into something good and beautiful, inside and out? Isn't that what a father was supposed to do? Or was there another outside influence over there, in Equestria which might try to seduce her into doing something she would not normally consider outside of the realm of common sense. I'm sure the alicorns would do everything they could to make sure Chrysalis understood the value of friendship and accept her for what she was.

I took into consideration something that should have dawned on me, as the show itself had progressed. There were other changelings, other queens. They had the mental links Chrysalis desired and needed in order to be a properly functioning queen in her own right. What if she were to link with them until she was able to establish her own hive. I had not thought of that. Even now, as it dawns on me, I begin to grasp this one simple fact: As the show went on, so was a look into Equestria and how it too was moving along with its own time.

Perhaps the utopia was not as utopian as I had thought it was depicted to be. Perhaps what the world saw in the show itself was just one tiny sliver of life in motion. Very rarely was the viewer exposed to what lay beyond the borders of Equestria, rather than subtle hints and suggestions. What political struggles were going on over there? Was there something else going on? Was their world not really all that much different than ours? Was someone going to rediscover Chrysalis from beyond the influence of the Sun and the Moon and seek to exploit her newness to a world that had once already seen her walk in it long ago? Was someone going to take her second chance at being something special and rob her of it?

The more I thought about it, the more I began to convince myself going was not only necessary, but paramount to my daughter's future.

The old dreams are coming back to me, but with a twist. I think being linked with Chryssie had suppressed those old hauntings, keeping them in check. But soon after she left, they came back. The first time, I woke up screaming, bathed in sweat and weeping. Only there was a change to the dream. Instead of me shooting the kid, I shot Chrysalis. Hugging my knees to my chest, I rocked there in my bed like a lunatic, staring a thousand miles away. As I did, I wept. I'd never do that to my pumpkin!

Never!

There were other dreams, not all of them bad. I dreamt mostly of Chryssie and the things we used to do. I dreamt of my family finding out about her and throwing me into an asylum when she never showed up after I called and called and called for her. Then there was the dream of the government finding out about her, taking me into custody and placing me in some dark room, tied to a chair and endlessly questioned. It was always the same questions, the faces blank, the figures dark and foreboding.

To kill the silence in my house, I'm always playing loud music. Mostly the heavy metal from my younger days. Chryssie and I used to listen to some of it when we cleaned the house, but I really had the foundations vibrating. I need the noise to keep the voices berating me in my head for failing to protect my daughter from Celestia when she finally came. I also find it helps me to think. Yeah, I know I'm going to Equestria, but the last sense I felt from Chryssie haunts me. Just as she winked from my world and into that other one, I felt her sense of being betrayed. I felt her heart break. Her eyes. She could not tear her gaze from me, those tears brimming, threatening to cascade at any moment while she waits for her daddy to call her to his side, to tell the white mare "NO!".

It's what she wanted. I know it. Damn it, I felt it from her.

The music is a poor substitute. Megadeth, Metallica, Iron Maiden, Nickelback, Slipknot, Creed... those bands from my youth and early adulthood return, as well as some of the softer music I like. Classical music from the Masters are thrown in. Old rock, Rhythm and Blues, any and everything pleasing to my ears. Even some country for good measure. There's a few movie soundtracks I enjoy, so they go into the mix, too. I need variety in my music. As I said, it's a poor substitute for not hearing my daughter's voice. God, I miss it. I even miss the arguments. She had more of a lean towards classical-style music than metal, but we'd both sing a few songs together on the karaoke machine now sitting unused in a corner of the house.

The Mustang she built remains unpainted in the garage. I notice for the first time the upholstery is cracked and faded. It was rebuilt, but never finished. Everything else works like a charm, almost as good as new. I spend a lot of free time when not moping in the house taking that unfinished Mustang out and driving it. She called it Twilight, naming it after her favorite pony.

I wonder if they're getting along? I hope they've become friends. Chryssie needs them as I've been her only one over the years. My fears wander in the direction of thinking I've made a social recluse, much as I've made myself become. You know the saying, like father, like daughter. Or in this case, shape-shifter.

It's the first time I've actually considered her this, as I now have a lot of time to think about her in a new light. Not having the light of my dim world with me has given me a new perspective. Chrysalis is a changeling. Therefore, she can shape-shift. Which means she can assume any form she pleases within a certain limit. She can mimic any voice with frightening accuracy. She once spent a whole day using my own voice, reminding me of how funny I think I sound. My voice is soft, I recall, thinking of the day she voiced me. I'm blunt, with a little rough to go with the gentle tone I stick to. Of course, that's me comfortable, relaxed. I asked her what I sounded like when I'm yelling or when I'm mad. I have a booming voice when I apply myself, but it's not deep. When angry, my voice grates with a growling undertone. It's not menacing by the weight of its volume, but it can send chills up the spine in how I vocally express my anger.

I was a sergeant, remember? Roaring out orders to guys up to a hundred yards away required being able to project one's voice, even if it wasn't exactly drill instructor quality. I could still bark with the best of them. Chryssie had my in hysterics when she imitated me, giving insane little orders while she strutted through the living room and the kitchen.

I miss her badly.

So yeah, I've made up my mind. My will was drawn up years ago. Everything would be divided equally with all direct members of my family. It might be irrational to think this, but I believe they would be happier with my money than with me. I know this isn't true, but I really just lack the will to stay on this world without knowing Chrysalis is safe. Besides, my only real reason for staying died years ago. I'm being selfish, I know. I'm being irrational for sure.

Right now, there are seven wars raging across the planet. The Middle East has three of them. Humans are killing humans for political, religious, and other reasons. I'm sick of it. I'm sick of people thinking their causes and beliefs are better than others. I'm sick of the hypocrisy.

Beam me up, Scotty. There's no intelligent life here. Or common sense.

Maybe I'm being too cynical. Maybe I'm not over the death of my biological daughter. Maybe I'm just looking for a fresh start. Maybe I just want to make sure my adopted daughter is safe and able to live her life happily, peacefully. Maybe I just don't know what I want. Maybe it's just me.

It certainly isn't money.

First of all, Discord played with the numbers. One could argue he even cheated, working disharmony in my favor. Why did he do it? Why did he flub some numbers so I could win? He didn't have to. I thought he was all about causing mischief and mayhem. His explanation to me was perfectly fine, perfectly sensible. It was also utterly insane when you think about it.

Why was I going to Equestria? Discord had told a story of what happened to Chrysalis after her failure at Canterlot. Her whole hive destroyed? Why would she do such a thing? Was I supposed to discover the reason behind it? Was she supposed to rediscover her past? There had to be more to Discord's story than what he told me. He was not the sort to answer directly unless he had an angle. At least, that was my perception from him, based upon his character. The answers were, of course, in Equestria. Another reason to go there was to satisfy my dim curiosity.

Those days Discord promised has stretched into a month and well into its fifth week. I'm beginning to lose my mind. Again.

Yay me.

Oh, I suppose I should get on with the story. The truth will be revealed as this tale of mine unfolds. Well, it's as much Chrysalis' journey as it is mine.

There's a knock at my door. It's a light knocking, hesitant and pensive, almost as if the person on the other side is fearful of what might answer. I go to answer it, slowly pulling the door open with honestly no idea who could be knocking. I'm expecting Discord to show up at any given minute.

I'm not expecting a butter yellow pony with a pink mane looking up at me with borderline panic in her eyes. Fluttershy winces when I make eye contact, her wings shuffling restlessly as she utters a little muffled "meep!" and hiding her eyes behind her mane.

Flabberghasted at the unexpected visitor, my eyes find a scroll in the little pegasus mare's mouth as she slowly emerges with her snout form beneath her mane. She's trying to smile through the parchment, a shy, forced little grin that could very easily shift to terror. I can see it in her eyes, her fear.

"Please come in, Miss Fluttershy," I say to her, not really knowing what else to speak. Swinging the door inwards, I step to one side and put on my most gentle expression, like what I used to give Chryssie when she was a filly. The last pony I would ever be mean to is the sweet Element of Kindness. Her name is not hard to remember.

My guest hesitates, hovering a dainty hoof in a half-hearted step over the threshold, her eyes flinching from me, to the interior of the house, then back to me. With what I could only assume is a great swelling of courage on her part, she inhales deeply, closes her eyes and slinks shyly into the house. I lead her to the living room, offer her a place on the couch, and wonder on the thought that had first popped into my thick skull and tiny brain when first laying eyes upon the pegasus.

What was she doing here?

"Um," she whispers, her cyan eyes casting down at her hooves. Her voice hovers to a barely decipherable tone, not at all comfortable with me, being in my house, probably for being alone.

Why was she here alone? Fluttershy wouldn't do anything by herself, unless she had eyes watching her, hidden. Was I being tested? Who would put her up to this? Discord?

"I'm sorry?"

She frowns, realizing she still has the note in her mouth and sets it on the coffee table. Again, she says something my ears can't make out. Her ears lay flat for a moment, her adorable little eyes going to and fro as though anything other than making direct eye contact with me was preferable. Instead, she reaches a hoof out and pushes the scroll towards me.

"Is that for me?"

She smiles, gives a little nod and quickly shrinks from me as I reach down and pick it up. I want to open it, but I'm seeing Fluttershy trembling. I hate to admit it, but my heart's breaking even though she has all rights to fear me. Thinking for a moment, I tap the scroll against my chin and come up with an on-the-spot idea, my sights having settled on the photo album. I recall Fluttershy likes cute things.

Why not show her pictures of Chryssie growing up?

"Want to see some baby pictures?" I suggest to Fluttershy with a small, hopeful smile.

Her ears perk forward, seeing I am pointing at the large photo album at the center of the coffee table. "Baby pictures?" They're the first words I hear from her clearly without needing to strain my hearing.

"Chryssie as a filly. Erm, you know her as Chrysalis. She was adorable!"

She isn't quite so sure of my claim, furrowing her brows and looking up at me over a scrunched muzzle in the softest look of doubt I could ever imagine. Think if you will, a singular ripple gently over a face, like a tiny wave over the peaceful glass surface of a pond. It fades, morphs into a gentle smile and a little cute nod.

"I would like that, I think. I mean, if it's not too much trouble."

"I'll even get a drink. Do you like apple juice?" I have the album in my hands, pulling it to the end of the table and opening it for Fluttershy. She's stretching her neck curiously, flinching any time a hand or a forearm seems to go towards her.

"That would be... nice," she breathes to me softly, still nervous but at least intrigued.

With a grin, I get up - slowly as to not startle - and head for the kitchen. My eyes search as I go, the scroll fitting neatly in my flannel shirt pocket. There's no way in hell Fluttershy would be here by herself. No. Damned. Way. Where's Discord? She's his best friend and I figure the only reason she's here is because he got her to come, one way or another for...

...for what, exactly? To test me? To see how I would treat a pony? Why would any idiot put sweet Fluttershy in such a dangerous position if they thought I was a threat? Would Discord to that to her? I thought... My thoughts degenerate into what the fandom perceived the relationship to be. My face becomes a skewered conflict as I berate myself for making such an assumption. Still, I sense... something else in the house, watching me. Curious. Wondering. Suspicious.

It's not Discord. He likes me.

I think.

I pull a glass from the cupboard, my thoughts troubled. Another one joins it on the counter by the sink. From the refrigerator I pull out the juice promised to Fluttershy. I fill both glasses, then put the carton away. Staring at the two glasses, I take a moment to pour myself a cup of coffee from an hour old pot. A half full glass of juice is left on the counter as I take Fluttershy's drink and my coffee and turn towards the living room, offering under my breath with a smile, "Get your drink and join us in the living room."

I thought I heard a startled gasp from somewhere around me. It might have been my imagination, but my ears certainly picked up something.

Fluttershy is still on the first page, looking at the photos with great interest, her eyes large and wondering. Her pink mane conceals most of her face, having fallen partially upon the album. She notices it and gently pushed her hair off as I set her drink down next to her. The butter yellow pegasus smiles up at me - shyly, of course - revealing to me her guilty pleasure of loving all things cute. There's not much to reveal, really.

"She's so adorable!" she coos at me, her hoof brushing over one particular photo. I peer over her shoulder as I sit down.

It's my daughter, her second molting having just been completed. She's in the tub, her hair a mess of shampoo suds bubbling around her face and around her little horn. It's grown considerably since, I note with a sigh. Chryssie is looking at the camera phone, this being the first time she showed irritation at having her image recorded for posterity. Her eyes are huge, round, cheeks puffy with her little mouth a straight line. She's on the verge of telling me 'no!', her right hoof reaching for me. I remember that day as though it had happened just last night.

"She was about this big," I tell Fluttershy, sitting back and holding my hands apart a little wider than a foot. I still have my coffee and my guest's drink in the other hand. Sheepishy I set them down, putting her drink in front of her. I again spread my hands apart to emphasize my daughter's size at the time the photo was taken.

The pegasus tilts her head to one side, looking at my hands as she tries to imagine the image in the photo to the size I'm depicting with my hands. She puts a hoof over her mouth to stifle the giggle. "Thank you for the juice," she says quietly, taking the glass in both... hooves? I watch in fascination as she grasps it with no fingers with seeming ease.

How does she do that?

"Who is the letter from?" I ask, producing the scroll from my front pocket. Wanting to read it right away, there's a part of me not wanting to read it.

She thinks for a moment, a little frown on her cute face. "I'm sorry, Mr. Spriggs, but I don't know who wrote it. Princess Celestia asked me to give it to you. Maybe she wrote it? I don't know. I'm sorry." Fluttershy becomes a bit downcast.

"You're just the messenger." I grin, shrug and begin to open the seal. "Nothing to apologize about. Go ahead and keep looking at the pictures. You seem to be enjoying yourself."

She nods and does just that. As she peruses my family album, I give myself a slurp from my coffee right after breaking the seal, set the cup back down and unfurl the parchment. I note it is of a fine, heavy quality for the first time. The script with which the words are written flow across the paper, masterful and beautiful to behold. The pen strokes I note are strong, yet precise, gentle, yet firm. There is a calm in the way the script is presented to me, thoughtful and kind. In a way, it reminded me of how the Constitution was drawn up almost two hundred fifty years ago by the Founding Fathers of the United States. This writing, however is so much easier to read despite the cursive scripture.

Dear Michael Spriggs,

A warm greetings, Father of Chrysalis! It has come to my attention you wish to follow your adopted daughter's footsteps into Equestria. I find this confusing as you appeared in our first and last meeting to have accepted staying in your world where as Chrysalis would return to her own. As I do not begrudge your desire to follow her and protect her, rest assured, everything is being done to preserve her happiness.

Your reason for coming to Equestria is one I find understandable, yet also of greatly flawed logic. As it was Discord who first sent Chrysalis to your world, I would imagine you would expect him to bring you to Equestria. However, his plans were discovered and he was brought before me for questioning. Young Fluttershy, the mare presenting the letter to you, was able to ferret out his plan and he explained everything - yet said nothing - in regards to why you must come to Equestria. He plays his own game, I fear, with no regards to the feelings of others, be it yours or your adopted daughter's.

Be that as it may, it would appear the link you share with Chrysalis is indeed as Discord suggested to me; that of a hive mind derivative. Think of it as a mental bond that can stablize a mind by giving it something else to lean upon when stressed. This sort of mental support apparently is exclusive to very special bonds of changelings, however this is simple theory in its earliest of stages. Twilight Sparkle, my student is eager to explore the realms of the magical link Chrysalis established with you.

Which brings me to a troubling reality facing me. Chrysalis has been with us but a short while, yet she pines for her father. She pines for you. She is irritable and sulks a great deal. She complains a great deal of headaches. My sister, Luna has tried to walk in her dream scape, to see if there is something she can do to relieve the changeling in her own way, but the dreams of your daughter are, as Luna described them to be, a storm of confusion, lost in a world she does not know. She is terribly frightened, though she masks it well around us. As I have become more aware of her, so am I becoming aware of her great discomfort.

I have not had a moment to properly gauge you, Mr. Spriggs. I would give you the opportunity to come to Equestria, but only if you pass but one simple test. My sister will administer this test. I trust her to do things her way, so I do not know the nature of the test she has devised for you. I believe your daughter needs you as much as you need her. Should you pass my sister's test, so shall you be invited and warmly welcomed to come to Equestria.

With Sincere Regards,

Princess Celestia

So, Discord was found out? I re-read the letter, noting out of the corner of my eye Fluttershy's constant shift of attention to me, as if trying to read my reaction. Her ears flicker forward and back as she seems to be trying to figure out my mood. I amaze myself by remaining impassive, sipping my coffee and rubbing the stubble on my chin. I idley think of the gray hairs that have started to appear in the mirror when I don't shave.

"Interesting," I mumble at last. The seconds had passed by at the pace of a thousand years each as I mulled over the words. Well, I know who came with Fluttershy now. "How's the apple juice?" I ask generally, then take another quick slurp of warm coffee. I am not looking at Fluttershy.

My gaze has wandered over in the direction of the kitchen, settling on a slender dark form seemingly to be more mane and tail than actual body. Ethereal stars and dark matter fill them, surrounding the majestic indigo form regarding me with hard blue dragon eyes. She and Celestia are roughly the same size, having finally coming fully into her own as an alicorn and firmly an equal to her elder sister.

Season Five, opening story arc for the first two episodes, "Nightmare Again".

She prefers to be called Luna. She never was anything else but. Her full powers had manifested themselves long ago, twisting into something dark and not very nice when it should have just been her coming into her own and finally establishing herself as Celestia's equal, as they were supposed to rule equally. Unfortunately, the whole jealousy thing from way back when with the banishing and the thousand year wait...

You know the story. Well, here she is, in her full dark majesty - sans armor - and regarding me with hard curiosity. The Princess of the Moon, Luna is standing right there, holding aloft the glass of apple juice I had poured her next to her head. She swirls it as one might do so in contemplation while regarding something not worthy of her trust. For a moment, it briefly reminds me of Chryssie's own gaze, but it disappears as there is a wary air about Luna as she studies me openly, taking a sip from her glass without so much as a blink.

I'm finding myself creeped out by her stance and stare. I'm also fully aware if she wanted to, Luna could obliterate me with a casual flick of her horn. I struggle to remind myself there is a kind-hearted princess beneath that deadly exterior. Nightmare Moon is like facing Artemis, though I'm not sure alicorns like her are truly gods. Like Celestia, Luna certainly feels to me like a goddess. She is ancient, powerful, and far more aggressive than Celestia.

So, here she is, the Princess of the Night regarding me without her armor on.

"I thank you for the refreshment," she says, her voice having a softer edge than her eyes. "I should let you know, Mr. Spriggs I am against you coming to Equestria."

Fluttershy tries to hide within her mane, the presence of the alicorn not so much upsetting her as her concern for me is apparent in her body language. "Princess Luna, he seems nice," she insists, urging at her ruler with a waving hoof. "He's not a meanie!"

Luna blinks a bit, adjusting her gaze to her little pony. "Was that a bit much, Fluttershy?"

"Just a teeny-tiny bit."

"Hmph! One would think speaking to a human would be easy." Luna huffs, breaking into a slight grin.

No, she does not have fangs, contrary to popular belief.

"Why the grim routine?" I ask in regards to her rather dramatic entrance. I'm not a guy who scares easy, unless it's a loud noise like a bang.

"Have you read my sister's letter?" she asks, indicating the paper still in my hands with a flick of her magic, causing a single tap like someone flicking a corner with a finger. "I am Luna, Princess of Equestria."

I stand to my feet, my manners coming late as I introduce myself awkwardly. I know I should not be that surprised, having spent the last thirteen years or so raising Chrysalis, but I force myself to suspend my disbelief currently doing backflips in the back of my mind. Oh, yeah, you think you're used to raising a shape-shifter for thirteen years or so, get over the insanity of Discord's little pocket universe, and even witnessing Celestia and her six bearers waltz into my house and spirit my daughter off to her world. Then you see Princess Luna, the darkened equal of her elder sister and co-ruler of a fantasy kingdom regarding you in your very house.

For a moment, I think my mind went bye-bye a long time ago and I'm in some padded room drooling in a corner and wearing a lovely straight jacket. Maybe I've been there for years, since Crystal died. I'm pretty sure I should have lost it back then. I should be a crazy man, wandering the streets and pushing a shopping cart I fished out of the river...

Stop it, Mike. Get a damned hold of yourself!

"Is something wrong?" Luna asks me, the concern etched on her equine features.

"I think I've gone insane," I say with a shrug, finishing off my coffee as if I just gave my opinion on the weather. "Don't mind me. I think the past decade plus has been a skip through Elysium Fields." Maybe I already killed myself long ago and this is where I've been ever since?

Apparently I uttered that last bit of my thoughts out loud. Fluttershy is staring at me, leaning more towards comprehending as to lack of understanding as she puts a comforting hoof on my hand.

"You are scarred, aren't you?" Luna moves towards me, relaxing a bit. "Celestia told me what she thought she understood of you. Perhaps it was unwise to separate you from Chrysalis to begin with." Her tone is almost motherly.

"So why come here? I thought Discord was going to come."

"He confessed his plans. Young Fluttershy here managed to make the miscreant confess his plans to her when he let slip a little how he sent Chrysalis to your world." The alicorn flicked her ears in annoyance. "He was willing to sneak you into Equestria and let chaos happen. Naturally, that cannot happen. As it stands, the methods of bringing you properly into another world will be controlled. Discord may have very well transported to you the Everfree Forest, with nary a means or knowledge for you to protect yourself with."

And I was perfectly fine with that plan, to be honest. I find my attention diverted to the yellow pegasus looking up at me with her shy smile. Damn adorableness!

"Discord wouldn't do that," she assures me uncomfortably, almost apologetic as the thought he would do just that crossed her thoughts. Fluttershy sits back and begins chewing on a hoof. "He wouldn't do that, would he?" she questions herself, knitting her brows together.

"He's spent the past few years on this world studying you, watching you, learning about you, and seeing how you would raise a changeling," Luna went on, snatching my attention from Fluttershy. "After his plans were discovered, he told my sister everything after she returned from your world with Chrysalis. I would like to know how he bypassed the difference in the passage of time for our respective realities." She was actually talking to herself more than me with that last sentence, her musings almost breaking her train of thought.

"So, why are you here?"

She smiles at me. "I would like to examine your dreams."

"What?"

"Only with your permission, of course."

"What?"

"It's not going to damage you in any way, I assure you, my good human."

"Lady, I don't know if you're familiar with my dreams, but I'm not really all that comfortable with having someone else poking around in my head and seeing the dark things I've got in there."

She stares at me, ears perking forward with a great deal of interest. "I can understand your concerns. Think of this as a requirement if you are to be allowed into Equestria. I have a kingdom to consider. Protecting my subjects is of the upmost importance to me." Luna shifts her wings, resetting them as her regal pose is uncompromising. "However, neither my sister nor myself would be at all at ease if a separation of two beings results in the both of them living out their lives in pain and confusion. I am to know a little of you, to weigh and measure you by seeing into your dreams. If I am satisfied with what I see, then I shall take you into Equestria."

I lean back into the couch, staring at the hands listlessly resting on my lap. Do I dare let a princess stare into my dreams, my thoughts, my memories and see the horrors I've been reliving?

It's for Chryssie.

"What do you need me to do?" I ask.

Her horn begins to glow indigo as she approaches me. "Sleep. Nothing more. I shall do the rest." Luna offers a smile for my benefit. "Simply allow the tip of my horn to touch your forehead. I promise you shall not feel anything other than a warm tingling sensation."

"Everything is going to be okay," Fluttershy assures me. She's such a sweet little thing!

I comply, closing my eyes. I can feel her breath on my face. Surprisingly, it's sweet and lulls me into a groggy haze. The tip of her horn touches my skin. I know nothing more...

I'm younger. I'm armed. I'm armored. I'm in uniform. Everything around us is a world of dry mountain air, sparse vegetation, a brown village largely lost in a forgotten time. Electricity is extremely rare in this region, the natives living in tribal groups. They suspect the foreigners treading upon their soil, the infidels disrupting their world. My M-4 carbine is at the ready position, muzzle angled towards the ground, selector lever on single shot, a round already chambered. I'm covered in dust and sweat and grime, as it's part of the job. Faces I recognize follow behind me, four other guys the lieutenant ordered to follow me as we sweep the perimeter.

With a grin, I note the goat tied outside of someone's front door, largely forgotten as the villagers are huddling somewhere in their homes, afraid of the Americans. I hate that. I hate people being afraid of me. I don't want to be there any more than they want me visiting. I can't remember the orders I give, just that I say something and the guys do it. It's a dream. Why can't I remember what was said so long ago?

Their faces are masks, hiding the fear we all have when venturing into a possible hostile situation. We've all felt the sting of battle. I personally hate it. I hate the killing. It makes me hate myself more each time I see someone else fall to one of my bullets. I've never been proud to take another human life.

Will this war ever end? It's madness. The purpose of our presence now lies somewhere rotting on the bottom of the Indian Ocean. Why the hell are we here? The people don't want us. The government is corrupt as all hell, yet we need to 'stabilize' the region. I love people. I enjoy meeting new cultures and learning customs I am not familiar with. I've picked up some of the local dialects, thanks to our interpreters, though my overall grasp of the language would make a five year old laugh at me.

Speaking of which, to my left, a faded blue door cracks open and I see a little face looking at me with big brown eyes. It's a little girl. She stares at me, gaping. I wave at her, smile, shoo her back inside her house. A pair of hands wrap around her waist, pulling her into the darkness within, the door slamming shut as a hysterical mother berates her daughter.

There's a crack of an AK-47 rattling above the house, down at us into the street. I'm hit in the side, turning towards the sound. It misses the plate protecting my vitals, going through me just above my left hip. The force of the blow knocks me into the wall and I'm instinctively firing at the shadow of a bearded man in white robes and vest spraying, not aiming his weapon. One of the other guys gets a quick bead on him and there's a lethal barking. The bearded man falls back, flinging his weapon away, arms flailing as he cries out.

I slide to the ground, legs sprawling out before me as I press my hand into the wound. Even though I know I'm bleeding, I check my gloved hand and see my own wet crimson on my fingers. Great. Just great.

"You were a warrior?"

"I was."

The world is numb around me, the form of Luna appearing before my eyes as a cloud of twinkling shadows, assuming her pony form. My squad works on me, calling out for the medic. I think the round went completely through my body, only tissue damage. It burns like hell. Yet, I'm having a conversation with a talking horse!

Well, it is a dream.

"What memory is this?" I notice her curiosity as she surveys her surroundings.

Numbly, I respond, "I killed a child on this day."

The medic shows up, patches me as best he can. I insist I can move on. The guys help me to my feet even as the crackling of more gunfire erupts on the other side of the village. I'm barking out orders, guys seek out cover, eyes darting everywhere. There's the sound of explosions. Grenades? IEDs? RPGs? Who knows. The Taliban uses whatever they can get their hands on, using guerrilla tactics.

Luna fades. I guess she just wants to watch this. I know it feels weird to me being a spectator to my own memory, brought to livid detail by the magic of the Moon Princess. We're noticed and more gunfire is leveled in our direction. We respond in kind, our aim much more deliberate, though at first directional to force the enemy to duck. The whining sound of rounds passing overhead and striking the walls is rapid, coming in bursts, creating wide patterns. The street is narrow, more or less straight, curving downwards with the slope of the hill the village rests upon. The angle isn't steep. Robed forms dart from one side of the street to the other, spraying at us with their assault rifles. I drop one.

The range is short in this place, the firefights happening between ten and twenty yards apart. I'm hit twice, my body armor absorbing each round. I grunt, the wind knocked out of my lungs as I'm again pressed against a wall, seeking cover.

"RPG!" comes the cry somewhere behind me.

The world behind me is lost in an explosion. I'm flung forward, over a cart, my shoulder shredded. I can't hear a damn thing now, other than the ringing in my ears. There's dust everywhere. I feel a hand gripping my good arm, pulling me up and back where I had just been flung from. We've got a guy down, his left leg a complete mess, bone sticking out from beneath skin and uniform. The grenade had exploded right next to it. Thankfully the angle of the wall took most of the blast, but his leg was as good as amputated.

I lay down suppressing fire, along with another guy. I'm shouting out where to lay down covering support. A door right next to me opens from across the way, I see a kid come out. He's armed. Pointing the barrel right at us. Its spouting spurts of flame. I don't think; I react, pressing the trigger. The boy drops, his face a mask of pain and shock. I stare at him, his fall slow, the world going silent around me.

I died that day.

"Such guilt. Such a burden."

Everything around me darkens, a warm blanket of nothingness around me. I feel nothing, everything. I sense being watched, judged, studied. Everything shifts. I can't see it, but the dream changes. I can feel it. Then, it begins to warp, reshape, the sensation of gravity and firm ground beneath me evident. The world in this dreamscape alters, becomes a place I'm familiar with, a place of eternal rest. I'm standing on a hill, no longer in uniform, no longer in that hell hole. There is, before me an impossibly close full moon, bathing me in her pale light. Before us is a singular marker in the rounded top of a small hill, a tiny grave bearing a name upon its smooth surface.

Crystal Luann Spriggs

Beloved Daughter

I stare at the stone, remembering the first time I had visited it years ago. I had taken Chryssie with me so she could see her sister. The daughter I knew so poorly had to meet the daughter I had taken as my own flesh and blood. As a matter in fact, my adopted daughter is with me now, sensing my hurt as I lay the bouquet of flowers before the headstone, kneeling with one hand on top of the stone, my head bowed in silent prayer.

"Daddy, does my sister sleep here?" she asked me then, the memory in the now, her voice as gentle as a breeze, mournful as a gray sky filled with rain.

"Yes, pumpkin. She sleeps here."

Oh, she must have been about ten years old at the time, but she understood then as she understands in this dream. Luna stands behind the stone, approaching as her form emerges and takes solid shape from the moon, her ethereal mane flowing with mystical energy I can't begin to comprehend.

"I wish she could have known you." I look up at my daughter. She weeps for me as she did then, the want to smile and make me feel better evident on her equine features. We embrace, father and daughter.

Luna's visage assumes sad respect.

"I would have liked to have met her, daddy," Chryssie said then, the memory a dream now made real.

Rather, it felt real. It was not the pain of loss I felt as strongly as it was the sense a sort of circle had finally been finished, yet left wanting. It felt unfinished despite it should have been. The lingering air around us was uncertain, as if the final result needed an epilogue.

"Your heart began to heal," Luna intones, her voice a babbling brook of sincerity.

In a sense, you could say I was reborn at my daughter's grave. Renewed with a confirmation of my new purpose to be a surrogate father to a changeling who would one day be a queen in her own right.

"Your heart is your daughter and your daughter is your soul."

I say to Luna in return, "There comes a time, princess, when the jewels cease to sparkle, when the gold loses its luster, when the home becomes a prison, and all that is left is a father's love for his child."

The dream fades, and I wake up...

My eyes flutter open, feeling wet, my cheeks as well. My free hand goes to wipe the tears from my face, sniffling as I feel something holding my left hand. I look down and see Fluttershy holding me with her hooves, her concerned gaze upon me as though I was one of her injured birds.

"Are you all right, Mr. Spriggs?" She's crying for me, that sad little face biting the lower lip as all the poor mare could do while I cried in my dream was sit there and watch me.

I pat her on the head, smiling. "I'm fine, thanks. Call me Mike."

Fluttershy returns the smile, hugging my hand. "Okay...Mike."

My attention shifts to the alicorn focused upon me, all signs of apprehension about me seemingly faded, gone. She stares, settling on her rump demurely before again contemplating her thoughts inwards. Dipping her chin, Luna considers whatever is in her head. I note she had shed a tear or two herself. When it comes up, she bears a smile for me.

"Make your final preparations, Mr. Spriggs," she says with the authoritative air of a monarch. "We leave for Equestria within the hour."

Author's Note

I'm finally transitioning towards Equestria. The perspective is also going to change from first to third, 'bringing everything up to speed' as it were. I am moderately satisfied with how this chapter rounded itself, providing a reasonable excuse to put the character into a fantasy world. I hope you guys enjoy the ride and thank you for your patience as it's taken me some time to get around to this one.

I've decided to remove the 'complete' tag and simply continue the story under 'My Little Chryssie'. I figure if the book changes, I'll note it in the chapter titles.

All comments and critiques are welcome!

Part VI

What can happen in nine years with Chrysalis as my daughter? How can someone reflect on the passage of time in a way properly expressing the contentment settling down within me? I was a father again. I was a father in the proper sense. I made mistakes, I had my little triumphs, I discovered more about myself just as I discovered my daughter clearly had a mind of her own. I really can't say if my journey down the road of parenting is typical. I am, after all raising a changeling. Am I protecting her from the world or am I protecting the world from her? Her magic amazes and frightens me. She knows it. Chrysalis tries to be careful, but she does make mistakes. A lot of mistakes. I am no different and we both discover a growing sense of pride and a resurging one. I want her to be her own individual, but I try to stress her being good and try to teach her what I think good is.

There is a lot of gray in there.

Nine years is a lot of time to have the bonds of love tested. It happens. Chryssie is prone to tantrums, especially when it comes to me putting my foot down on her insisting on exploring her world on her own. As she grew older, naturally her curiosity pressed her to go beyond the walls of the house on her own while I worked. I always encouraged her to explore her magic, but always when I was around.

Not that there was anything I could really do about her magic. I've been lucky my warnings and rules have been kept because she chose to, even if most of them she didn't like. Locking the doors doesn't work. She figured out picking locks with her magic. As she became more competent with her skills, she even started rearranging the living room out of boredom. This was later in years, but at the time, dealing with a strong willed daughter growing more and more sure of herself and what she could do was turning into a challenge.

I was finally able to get her to stay in her room, starting out by staying with her in her room until she fell asleep, sitting on her bed. I would watch her sleep, my little dark angel and then go to bed myself. I didn't think it would work, but the next morning, I woke up alone in my bed. I was both happy and sad, because it meant my little girl was moving on in the game of growing up. I still have wistful visions of Crystal with Chrysalis, growing up together.

Maybe in spirit. I hope so. I dearly hope so.

So, how does it all begin, this strange and wonderous road after a year of getting to know each other? How does this path wind and turn and pass through those rough patches all little families go through?

Such journeys begin with the first step. One foot in front of the other. It's like footsteps in the sand. You can look back on the beach and see your imprints in the wet sand, where your feet placed themselves. Some of the steps are long strides, others are careful little steps. Still there are the moments when you danced around the incoming surf and other times where you try to avoid the broken glass. Sometimes you are cut. But it's you and that child you take with you, guiding her. Two sets of footprints side by side. Sometimes you see just your own trail. Those are the times you pick up your daughter and carry her. And sometimes, just sometimes, you see just your daughter's prints where she bore you upon her shoulders.

My journey after finding her began with me carrying her. For the first year since we met, she carried me for most of it until I could rediscover myself.

Someone began watching us. I could never see quite who it was, but I always had the nagging feeling we were being watched. Paranoia? Maybe. This felt like a constant nagging feeling in the back of my head. I've been in three ambushes and I always had a tingling feeling in the back of my brain, those warning bells I took very seriously. It happened early in the beginning of our second spring together. It was one of those cold gray days where the clouds always threaten to open up on you but hold back, perhaps a sprinkle here and there. Everything was still brown and dead and a cold wind could still cause a shiver through the layers you wore. Other than that, it was a lovely day and someone was watching the two of us.

Chryssie wanted to go outside and play, having spent most of the winter cooped up inside the house. It would be nice to walk the grounds, maybe revive the old garden grandma and grandpa had kept later as it grew warmer. I should have prepared the grounds last fall, but my walk to the forgotten garden reminded me how much grandma and grandpa had let it shrink as they grew too old to maintain a very large plot. It was a moment of nostalgic memory as I stood where I planned to grow squash, tomatoes, green beans, potatoes, and any other vegetables I could think would be good to have. I'd never tried gardening before, but just as spears are beaten into plows, so was this warrior to become some form of a farmer.

Hard work under a hot sun and maybe, just maybe I could get Chryssie interested in my project. Eventually she would have her own ideas, but at that moment, I wanted to picture a warm summer day, green things growing in perfect rows with nary a weed in sight. I did that until Chryssie hit me in the side of the head with her football. As I bent to pick her toy up, I felt it. Now, when you realize you're being watched, you don't want to let the watcher know you're on to them. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled with nervous apprehension.

Chryssie felt my emotions go from the surprise of being hit, to bursting with fatherly love, to sudden suspicion and wariness. A pleasant mood went sour in no seconds flat. My body tensed as I was bent over and picking up the football. Overhead droned the sound of a single engine plane. Casually I followed my ears with my eyes. It was some sort of private airplane. They occasionally do pass overhead, so I dismissed it. I flickered to the nearest clump of bushes at the edge of my property about a hundred yards away.

A worried voice reaches to me. "Daddy?"

"Don't worry about it, pumpkin. Daddy's just a bit jumpy, that's all." The reassuring smile I throw her seems enough to mollify. She's happy again and starts trying to fly with her wings. Soon, she'll be flying around like a horsefly.

Bad joke. My apologies.

The bond between us grows. It's not telepathic, but we can feel each other's thoughts and emotions enough to where conversations take on a whole new meaning. I find I can block her if I concentrate and I encourage her to block me, thinking this is a good mental exercise. I tell her we should both be able to switch it on and off like the lights in the house. It's one of the few things I get right in regards to how to manipulate your own mind if you set yourself to the task of discipline. I've been practicing mental discipline to keep myself from going crazy, after all, and with no small help from Chryssie. I owe her my life.

A few weeks later, while at work, a stranger entered the store and wandered around like a customer who didn't know exactly what it was he wanted to get yet. He selected a drink from the cooler after a few minutes of standing there, hand on the handle of the door, his head going up and down, studying the labels from his side of the glass. Even after he picked one out, he stood there, looking at his bottle, then back at what was inside, his brows furrowed in indecision.

"Something I can help you find?" I query, leaning on the counter and putting on my best customer service smile. I'm actually a very friendly person if I put the effort into it. "Any particular drink you're wanting?"

"Eh," he replies, not looking at me. The expression on his face shifts from being indecisive to utter defeat. "You don't have that new soda. I don't know what it's called, but it's the one with the dragon for the mascot."

"There aren't any sodas like that I know of." Now I'm frowning, having never heard of it. I should know, I help the boss decide what he wants to order to keep the shelves stocked. I'll even place the order on days he's too busy to do it himself (I know, sleepy town and all, but he's an old man).

The guy looks at me, his face suddenly impish. I notice his eyes are odd. "I think it's called Chaos Cola." They seem to be yellow and red. Maybe wearing contacts? His clothing seems nice, almost expensive, somewhat mismatching. It reminds me of a track suit with a rainbow of colors. On his head is a black and white cowboy hat, like cowhide. Upon his feet, when I lean over to look, are sandals. As I find my eyes back up to his head, I notice his dark hair sticking out hap-hazardly from beneath his hat. He holds up the drink he had already selected. Chocolate milk. "No matter. I'll go with this, my fine young friend."

"Sure thing. Any gas for you today?"

He's a skinny guy, I'm noticing. Lanky and moves with the ease of a snake. He's closer to seven feet tall than six, but I bet I weigh more than he does. I get the weird sensation I've met him before, but I can't place him.

"Oh, let's see. How about twenty bucks on the pump out there, my good man."

"I can do that." I ring him up. "Anything else?"

He's studying me like he was studying the soda a few minutes ago. "Tell me," he says with an odd smile that's strangely disarming. "Do you consider yourself a lucky man?"

I immediately think of Chryssie. "I do." My smile is a mile wide.

"Even having such a lowbrow job as this one, my friend?" He sweeps a hand dramatically around the store. "I mean no disrespect, but you seem the sort of fellow who would fit in almost anywhere he lived, and I do mean anywhere."

"Well, I don't ask much out of life and my house is paid for, so I pretty much just need this job to pay the bills and keep fed. Besides, I like peace and quiet."

"I see." It's almost as though the guy can see right into me. "Oh, it's plain to see you're also a man of secrets!" he proclaims, then leans forward in a sidelong glance, holding the back of his hand to the side of his mouth as if trying to keep the walls from listening in. "It's perfectly safe. Don't worry about a thing. I've got it under control."

"I'm sorry, sir?"

He straightens, flashes a grin and revealing a snaggled tooth. "No matter, no matter. Print me up two quick picks for tonight's mega lottery thing. I don't know about you, but I'm feeling really lucky!"

I do just as he requests, ring him up and hand him his tickets after he pays for his purchases. He then scrutinizes his lottery tickets, squinting with one eye, then the other as he holds them up. "Pick one, my young friend," he smirks.

"I couldn't do that." I've never gambled or bought lottery ever in my life. I think it's wasteful and frivolous.

"Nonsense! I insist you pick a ticket for yourself." The customer waves them in front of me, tantalizing with them. He's also going, "Ooooooo!"

Reluctantly, I do so and it makes the guy very happy. His grin reminds me of the Cheshire Cat. Giving me a two fingered salute and gathering up his drink, the strange man saunters out the door and towards his car. I notice it appears to be a cherry red Mustang, sort of like what's still in a disassembled state in the barn back at the house. Soon he's gone, and I hear a distinct - "Ta-ta!" - before the car roars out of the gas station as though he suddenly realized he was in a hurry to get some place.

My boss walks in about an hour later and asks me about the customer.

"Why?" The ticket is in my hand and I show it to him. "He paid twenty for his gas and got a drink and some lottery. Gave me this ticket after his purchase."

"It just struck me as all-out strange," he replies, waving the ticket off for me to have. "It might just be my age catching up with me or maybe I'm just plum crazy, but I could have sworn that guy drank gasoline from the nozzle and poured chocolate milk into his gas tank." The boss removes his glasses for a moment and rubs his eyes.

"Are you sure?" I blink, not sure what to make of this whopper. "I've heard your tall tales before, but seriously?"

"May my tongue fall out if I'm lying!"

I waited for it to do just that. I was sorely disappointed.

That night, on a whim, I check my lottery numbers. Normally, I would have just thrown the ticket away and thought nothing of it. I mean, the odds of winning the jackpot is literally millions to one. Millions. Compared to past jackpots I've seen, this one is fairly small, only about fifty million or so. Typically I've seen it around three or four times that these days when I do pay attention. I have a few regular customers who religiously buy lottery, have their numbers, buy scratch tickets and what have you. A few have even bought me scratchers, but only the one or two dollar variety. I've even won five bucks once.

I'm watching the screen as the numbers are pulled from a set of large clear plastic balls with little ping-pong balls with numbers bouncing around in them. There's a pretty girl in a lovely dress drawing the balls from the top of the clear globes, facing the winning numbers to the camera. Chryssie finds this boring and wants to watch something else, but I shush her with a light tap to her muzzle and a grin. She pouts and blows a raspberry at me.

The numbers come up, one by one. I glance down at my ticket. First number! Okay, that's the third one on the ticket. One down. Next number comes up, and it's matching the last number on my ticket. I'm starting to shake both knees slowly as I'm starting to get a little nervous. My princess leans over to see what I'm staring at.

"Numbers?"

"Yes, honey. Numbers."

The next one pops up. It matches the first one. Three out of five! With the Powerball number to go! I get another number. My heart is pounding. Chryssie is wondering what's making me so excited. Was it the girl? The balls? The numbers? She's blinking between me and the screen with her lost eyes, tilting her head. The fifth number comes up. Another match! I'm on my feet, pacing in front of the television now like a caged animal, my shoulders are up and my head is hanging over the ticket. The last number pops up, the mega number. I stare at it. I stare at my ticket.

I faint.

I wake up to a hysterical filly sobbing over me, trying to shake me awake. "Daddy! Please wake up. Daddy!"

Properly reduced to jerkhood for fainting in front of a toddler, I sit up and enfold her in a groggy hug, the world spinning as I reassure Chryssie. "Everything's okay, pumpkin. Everything's okay!" I'm still clutching the ticket. The damn thing is golden.

She doesn't care about that. Chryssie is only happy to see her daddy isn't hurt and is even ecstatic, never mind it's over a piece of paper. We're rich.

The next morning, I tell my boss, show him the ticket, and drive for over an hour to turn it in and claim my winnings. I ask for the lump sum settlement. After the government gets its share of my winnings, I'm left with about twenty-two million. Though I should gripe at how the government likes to make someone pay for having money, I really don't give a damn. I can invest most of it and get what I lost back so long as I manage everything properly. This means finding the right investment firm and research and savings and all sorts of other things a guy has to do in order to make sure he doesn't go stupid with his money.

It takes several days, but I get the money deposited into my account and suddenly the bank thinks I'm an important customer. For some reason, that irritates me. I just want to go home and do something for my daughter. Maybe a road trip, maybe go see things around the country she wouldn't be able to see under normal circumstances. I intend to not let her remain sheltered. Summers on the road, winters at the house?

Sounds like loads of fun.

I gift my boss some money and give my two weeks notice. He's thrilled for me. Phone calls go out to the parents and the sister, letting them know I'm no longer poor. I pay them all back the money I've borrowed, plus interest. This is all too good to be true.

One night as I'm still basking in the afterglow of being no longer impoverished and now well to do, I set Chrysalis on my lap and ask her, "Hey pumpkin, do you want to see America?" She's heard about it, of course. Television is always showing images of what life is like outside the house and beyond the horizon. She's seen mountains and rivers and cities and forests and all sorts of things she's asked me about a million times.

She nods eagerly.

"Do you want to see the Rockies?"

She's a bobble head doll.

"Do you want to see the ocean?"

Her mouth is beginning to open, adding to her happy smile. Those menacing fangs look cute when she smiles like that.

"We'll go to Yellowstone Park. You remember Old Faithful on the Discovery Channel, don't you?"

Chryssie is literally buzzing with excitement. "Are we going to see them, daddy?"

"Yes, pumpkin. We're going to do all of that. But there's one thing I need you to learn first." An idea had been brewing in my head since I thought of the summer long road trip. We'd do it next year, after careful planning.

Curious, she leans in towards me. "What is it?"

"I want you to pick your favorite dog type and turn into it. That way, you can run around in public and not worry about people staring at you." She'll have a year to perfect it. Maybe some other things, too. Could she look like a human? I wonder.

She still doesn't understand people might be frightened of her, but she nods with a sigh. A few times there's been an attempt at setting her down and trying to explain how unique she is in this world and how some people might want to take her away from me and even hurt her. It's not hard for her to sense how serious I am even though my voice is gentle and patient as I explain the importance of her safety over and over again. I've been a broken record about it since she first stepped into my life. I'd like to keep her there, safe and sound and under my watchful eyes. As much as I want her to grow with a sense of being free, I know that's next to impossible.

Still, no child of mine is going to live in a world not knowing what's over the next hill. I want her to experience Americana, the wonders, the sights, the Purple Mountains Majesties. I want her to know why I love traveling, why seeing things like Mount Rushmore and Mount St. Helens is just as awe inspiring as seeing the sea for the first time and witnessing the green copper sheen of the Statue of Liberty.

Searching for the perfect traveling home takes about three weeks. I purchase a modest recreational vehicle (sorry, they call them coaches now), with all the bells and whistles. It's a couple of years old, the previous owners having upgraded to some bigger monster or something. The coach almost as long as a school bus, with a flattened front and a massive windshield. Driving it isn't difficult, but I do bump a few curbs as I learn how to finesse the behemoth. The color is emerald green and charcoal gray, it's shiny and its completely loaded inside with all the modern amenities. I decided to call it the Behemoth.

Okay, so I splurged. If I'm going to be rolling around in a second home, its going to look halfway decent and be something a guy can settle in at night and feel like he's in his mobile castle. I pull up to the house, bouncing along the gravel driveway until I pull up next to the house. I park the beast and get out, quite pleased with myself. My old car is being towed by the monster as I had gotten a tow package with the deal. I debate getting a new car, too.

Who am I kidding? I am definitely getting a new car!

Chryssie, in the meantime has been busy finding on the internet what kind of dog she wants. I'm not at all surprised when she selects some sort of wolf-looking breed I can't exactly identify. She proudly shows me the internet site. I had no idea domestic dogs had been bred to look like wolves. My little princess had chosen a breed called the utonagan. She's learned to watch videos of animals she wants to mimic and it takes a lot of practice for her to get the details right. I assume it's easier with a live animal in front of her, but Chryssie seems able to make transformations from pictures as well. Using me as a judge, she tries and tries (getting some rather gruesome results in the process) until she gets something I think looks properly canine and woflish, even holding her up to the bathroom mirror (she's heavy).

My boss is retired now, thanks to me. He showed me kindness and I return the favor by simply giving him a million dollars, training my replacements (he hired three people), doing my two weeks, and then saw to getting the house a new roof. A contractor was recommended by my boss, was hired, paid for supplies, and promised a bonus if the roof was done as expediently and professionally as possible. That summer, a completely new roof was installed, along with some solar panels. My idea is to make the house self-sufficient and eventually modernize it. Maybe a pool? Nah, I really don't want to go through the hassle of maintaining one.

My faithful 1985 Cavalier wagon was replaced by a Hyundai Sonata. It's a silvery gray with tinted windows. It looks pretty cool. Chrysalis gave it her lick of approval on the steering wheel after sniffing around in it when I brought it home. Even changelings approve of that new car smell. Chryssie is getting excited at the idea of traveling, even a little scared. She's only known the house and at rare times, my work. But she'll be with daddy.

I just wish Crystal could come.

A father never stops thinking about a lost child. Maybe Chrysalis is nothing more than a crutch for me to lean upon, but I need her. She's brought me out of my lethargy almost two years since that night of the storm. The gratitude will be repaid by showing Chrysalis my world and my country and the diversity of its people. I want her to see the good things, to stay away from the bad. I don't want her to be that evil mare from the show when she grows up. Because if Celestia comes...

...when Celestia comes...

...I want my baby to be ready. She's too young now, too innocent to understand her tale, but I want to give her one summer with me, out there, on the road before I tell her about where she came from. I want her to know how much she means to me before I tell her there will eventually be others who will come for her, for good or for ill. I also have to prepare myself, for the crushing blow that will fall, breaking my heart. I would follow my daughter to hell if I could. It's a father's duty to protect his children. I already feel I failed one of them.

I don't want to lose my second.

Even if there is no way for me to follow, she must be prepared. It is my loving duty to prepare Chrysalis for the eventuality. I can't hope to go with her.

Can I?

Of course, I'm putting a lot on the back of stories I read on the internet. Were they coincidences? Was "My Little Dashie" just the creation of a fellow who simply wanted to write a story? Am I putting too much stock in what I read?

Every night I kiss my little princess on the forehead, just below her horn and always over her left eye good night, I look into her smiling eyes as she yawns, wrapping her hooves around my hand. I remember the first time she said, "I love you, daddy."

There was no hesitation. "I love you, too, pumpkin. For always and forever."

All fathers should love their children. Though one of them can no longer be with me, I love her equally and keep the love I have with her right along side my little Chryssie.

The summer rolls on, hot and humid. I've taken up jogging in the morning, sensing I'm out of shape and the beer gut I've impregnated myself with has got to go. I had abs of steel in the Army. I might not be able to get them back, but a flat stomach would be nice. I start my routine with stretching exercises followed by push-ups and crunchies. Then I start with a simple mile. After a week, I increase how many push-ups and crunchies I can do, my body at first protesting at the sudden use of muscles I'd forgotten about. I run a little bit farther, getting my wind back. I'm still relatively young, so it's not too impossible to get back into a routine. I do it anyway, mostly for myself. Wearing nothing more than shorts and shoes, I'm still drenched in sweat by the end of each run because of the humidity. Chryssie watches me curiously, wondering why I'm exerting myself so much.

It feels good, is the only answer I can think of.

The new roof is up, the solar panels take a few weeks longer, but by the end of July, everything is finished. The garden is growing and my constant battle with the weeds and varmints is never ending. I have sunburnt shoulders and arms, eventually giving way to peeling skin. Its bright red and brings out the freckles on my fair skin. Chryssie laughs at me for being so bright red! She practices her mimicry, working on her dog form and becoming quite fond of it. I've asked her if she's tried to be human once, but she only shakes her head and rolls her eyes at me.

"Two legs hard to walk on," she sniffs, teasing me. I do catch her intrigue in my thoughts, though. There it is, faint and almost hidden. I wonder what she would look like as a little girl. If she can master it, mingling with other people would be easy indeed!

But would the risk be worth it?

Her vocabulary grows, she molts, and fall is upon us. The modest garden provides modest vegetables. Not too many were eaten by bugs. Not all were scrawny, pathetic little things. The cucumbers grew large and we had plenty of them to munch on. The tomatoes were a pleasant surprise as my crop was rather generous in my eyes. Those things aren't cheap at the grocery store.

I'm up to five miles a day jogging and can almost match the push-ups from my military days. I don't have the drive I used to, but I'm feeling healthy and good and happy. I'm also running with a backpack with a hundred pounds of gear in it. My drive for pushing myself like this is not to just get back into shape.

In my mind's eye, I am preparing to defend my daughter. I am preparing for war. Against what? Against whom? More importantly, how?

Yeah, I'm probably just being paranoid. I'm probably acting crazy. I've also got a magical creature living under my roof that I love very much. Chryssie thinks I'm crazy, but all daughters think their dads are nuts.

Don't they?

Winter comes, taking another swing at us. We celebrate the important days, birthdays, holidays, and special days that happen. Like when Chrysalis learned to fly under her own power. I honestly thought it wouldn't happen until a few years down the road, but she managed to hover while decorating the Christmas tree. Planning for the summer trip continues. Chryssie's getting big! She's learning how to read and write, her ability to control her magic gets better with each passing day. She still loves to curl up on my lap, but she's getting too big for that. We watch movies together, go on trips together. I show her a little more of the world around the local area as she perfects her dog disguise. She makes a cute puppy, but for some reason insists on keeping her harlequin eyes while as a canine. I find it unnerving looking at a dog that should have brown eyes and see a pair of glowing cat-like eyes smiling right back at me.

I think she does it on purpose just to freak me out.

Yay me.

The whole time I've wondered at the most unexpected of times the tall, oddball stranger who had given me the ticket. I had half expected him to show up and demand his ticket, or some recompense for handing it to me, but no, nothing. There was something so familiar about the guy, but I could never quite put my finger on it. Maybe he was crazy? Certainly eccentric to be sure. Even if he's oblivious to what he did for me, I'd like to find the guy and thank him. It would only be proper.

So no, you don't forget the faces of those who impact your life.

Spring rolled over winter, the cold grudgingly swaying towards warmer air. The rains come and the date circled in red on the calender looms ever nearer. During this time, I'm getting the necessary supplies, emergency equipment, first aid kits, generator, MREs (Meals, Ready to Eat). The larder is stocked full of canned goods, the fishing poles are packed away, tackle box, and even a couple of spare rods. I plan on seeing a lot of wilderness. I love the great outdoors. I even pack a small tent in case I want to sleep outside and 'rough it'.

I never thought to think of how Chryssie would take to roughing it. She seemed to like the times we went out for swimming, camping by the river, and sleeping under the stars. I assumed she would take to it like a duck takes to water. To a degree, I was right. As the years passed, I would soon discover something else about her and the great outdoors.

Changelings are alpha predators. I'll get to my reasons as to why I believe this. Right now, she's still a filly; adorable and huggable and just a bright spot in my dreary life. I'll also state right now I was going to run into that guy again. Notice how they're both mentioned in the same paragraph?

Not yet. I figure I've jumped around a bit as it is and I feel as though I've left a few things out, but hey, when you have a changeling or a pony or a griffin or a dragon or God knows what else living with you, things tend to be forgotten on the side of the road as you continue towards the future. I'll try to remember these things as best I can, living in the moment and realizing certain things as I go. For now, you're stuck with dealing with a crazy man's thoughts.

Driving the coach that summer was at first a challenge until I became comfortable navigating the Behemoth. After making sure the house was locked and getting my former boss to agree to check on the house once a week as well as shut off the electricity and phone and other monthy bills tied up to the house stopped, Chryssie and I grinned at each other, fastened our seatbelts, and went straight for Yellowstone National Park.

Naturally she took her Twilight Sparkle doll with her. She takes her stuffed mare friend everywhere. Absolutely loves that toy to death. While we're on the highways, she likes to watch her shows and movies and other forms of entertainment available to pass the long, boring miles. She literally keeps house while I drive, her voice humming in tune with the sound of her buzzing wings when she's happy. I even bought her all five seasons of My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic. I hear they're doing a real movie. It's coming out later this summer. Maybe Chryssie would like to see it?

I'll be honest. I'm not really interested in seeing the movie past the point of possibly gleaning information from it in regards of what I might expect when they come for Chrysalis. I'm not even sure it's going to happen, but I've covered that crap already. Its driving me nuts.

Anyways, Chryssie started watching the series. She looks about six or seven now. I can't tell. Does it matter? Random thoughts are random. Chryssie loves the show and starts watching it almost religiously. I'm starting to learn the words of the show's opening theme. Every twenty-two minutes, I hear the theme song again. It assails my ears like an overly bubbly bee trying to convince me the sweetness of the song is soothing and good.

It is not.

But, I endure. My daughter is happy. My daughter is behaving. My daughter is right now trying to peer over my shoulder through the vast windshield in front of the both of us as I drive the Behemoth down a straight stretch of highway, westbound. Her eyes are huge.

"Daddy, what are those?" The wonder in her tone makes me grin.

"Those are mountains, pumpkin," I reply dryly. We're in Wyoming, having come from the rolling hills of western Nebraska, following the highway. The road takes us north from Cheyenne and will eventually take us to Casper.

The mountains themselves aren't that impressive yet. We're in the foothills of the Rockies, but Chryssie is completely blown away seeing the peaks with her own eyes instead of relying on photographs and the internet.

"Why are you smiling, Daddy?" she asks me.

"I'm smiling because you're the best daughter a dad could ever ask for."

Yellowstone is amazing. The lingering chill of the winter still persists even though it's mid June at night, but Chryssie assumes her utonagan form, her long, thick coat a mix of gray, black, and white and very wolfish in appearance. She's perfected it and is very proud of her accomplishment. Not a fan of collars, I had the forsight to let her pick one out for herself on the internet before we embarked on this journey of discovering America. It's a simple leather collar, with her name "Chrysalis" on a tag. It took even longer to convince her to stay on the leash. Leash laws may or may not be taken seriously, but I wasn't about to try and explain myself to a park ranger or risk dirty looks from parents thinking a wolf was running loose among them. She hates it even worse than she hates the collar. I suggest she try a human form, but immediately think of all the things little girls would need; clothes, shoes, stuff like that.

Maybe another time. She's still not impressed with the human body, even if the opposable thumbs are intriguing. Besides, she has magic. It more or less trumps being a slow, soft-skinned bipedal naked ape.

Her words, not mine.

Despite my fears, people react to Chryssie's canine form positively for the most part. Kids always want to pet her. She adores the attention. There are a few strange looks until I explain Chryssie is not a wolf, but an utonagan. We get to see Old Faithful, watching the geyser erupt in a magnificent display of scalding water pressure and steam. Chryssie and I are wowed along with the crowd. We explore more aspects of the geothermal hot spots, looking at the different colors caused by bacteria in the hot pools. The experience is amazing.

Summer passes, we go home. The memories we take are mostly good ones, though there are a few things Chrysalis did to either make me want to hide or cringe or wonder what she was thinking. It's remarkably easy for us to enjoy ourselves as Chryssie can make out if someone nearby has positive emotions or negative ones. I'm thinking changelings are empaths to some degree the more she tells if someone seems untrustworthy because she's got a bad vibe coming from them. I trust her instincts and her abilities.

In the meantime, she's feeding off the love of humans, as well as other emotions. It fills her with magic reserves. Chrysalis has so much love to feed on, they barely feel it as nothing more than a momentary yawn or a weariness that passes after a minute or two. I chastise her for feeding without permission. I'm used to her feeding off me by now. My body has adjusted to her feeding, almost as a sort of conditioning. I've also found the better physical condition I'm in also reflects on how much love Chryssie can feed off of me before it begins to drain me to the point where it becomes physical exhaustion.

I don't think she's ever experienced anything quite like the love a human is capable of. I don't think I've ever known what strength can be found from within it. I'm alive, aren't I? If I didn't feel love, nor care for it, I guarantee you would not be reading this story right now. I don't suppose. It's a fact. When my changeling daughter is old enough to understand her perspective on love a bit better, I'd love to talk to her about it.

The house is just where we left it, though filled with dust from four months of nobody living in it. Still, something seemed off. With a quick check with my daughter, she confirms someone is watching us and they're both curious and amused. It's a singular entity, she notes, suddenly afraid as her feelings echo in my heart. Our connection is strong and I know she's not felt emotions like this one. She can't describe it, but it terrifies her. Together, we check the house and find nothing out of place, nothing amiss. Chryssie hisses, her wings buzzing with irritation and nervousness. Then, after perhaps a half an hour of searching, she tells me the feelings are gone.

Her whimpers have me in a seek and destroy frame of mind. Somebody's frightened my little girl and I want to find out why.

That night, Chryssie sleeps with me. I stay up, in a watchful mood as I sprawl on the couch, simply listening. The grandfather clock ticks away the seconds, the pendulum swinging as the little filly - too big for my lap now - sleeps there on the lap she has outgrown, her head against my chest.

Paranoid. My daughter's feelings has left me paranoid.

Eventually sleep and I find each other.

The years pass, nine to be exact. Chrysalis grows larger and larger until the tip of her horn is at my eye level. Her words become eloquent, her vocabulary beyond my own. Her magic continues to grow stronger as she is pretty much teaching herself how to wield it. I breach thirty without a thought and my family thinks I have a dog I take with me everywhere I go. They even meet her when I take the initiative and go to see them. Even though Chryssie is in her dog form, she discovers my family to be perfectly strange. Engrossed in their own pursuits, they've forgotten the meaning of family, but they still love me. They simply can't pull themselves from the webs they've made for themselves.

Keep in mind, this is the observations my little princess makes to me one day while we're sitting on the front porch in late fall one afternoon. She's probably a little bit larger than, say Twilight Sparkle, a teenager now. She's feisty and still loves the plushie making me think of that cartoon mare. She's very close to appearing exactly as the queen in the show, but far younger still and seemingly always with a smile on her charcoal gray muzzle. For the past three years she's spent the fall, winter, and spring months lurking in the barn, learning how to build a car. It's become a hobby of hers, learning how to put the Mustang together. She uses the world wide web to its full advantage, learning what parts go where, how to assemble them and in which order to place them. Grandpa already had all the tools she needed and became a wonderful exercise in manipulating parts of various sizes and weights at the same time.

Chrysalis became a part time grease monkey. She absolutely loved absorbing herself in her work. I helped when I could, but had to put up with her short temper when things weren't going exactly as she had hoped. There was a lot of trial and error as she build that car. I would often find her pouring over one of the many thick manuals on the Mustang, detailing the parts and studying the diagrams closely, muttering under her breath when she wasn't finding what she was looking for. I learned a little about cars from Grandpa and far more from my adopted daughter. She would let me help, but the project originally started by my grandpa was picked up by Chryssie and she attacked it with gusto. It became her project and her joy. In the meantime, I would bring her food to snack on. The car is nearly finished.

She's more of a carnivore now than a herbivore. The love of sweets has lessened, but she'll still indulge every once in a while in a bowl of ice cream. She also still lugs that purple doll around her everywhere, calling it her good luck charm. Chrysalis is looking more and more the queen, often acting like one, to my amusement. No, this isn't the evil creature I remember from a show I no longer watch. Though the lingering doubt of characters are going to come for my baby are there, I no longer worry about a cartoon. No, this is a majesty of self-assuredness, comfortable with who she is and what she is. Many things are still a mystery and she has many secrets she won't reveal to me, but our bond remains strong and she merely asks I trust her as she has trusted me for so many years.

"I'm sorry, Daddy," she said to me, her smile gentle as she tossed her mane. "Until I understand my secrets more, some of them I still need to find for myself what the answers are. I know this is not my world and I know one day others will come to me. I've been aware of your fears for some time. I wish you would tell me why it makes you so afraid." Her voice is closer to resembling the disjointed sound of two trying to speak in harmony with each other. Its as though her voice started to split as soon as she hit puberty. She has also stopped molting about the same time and grows normally, I assume.

I can also sense our time is short. This comes from her. There's a sadness about it, but it is from her. All I can come up with is, "Yeah."

My arm goes over her shoulders and I pull her close to me as we sit on the couch together. She's my daughter and she's starting to come into her own.

Not yet, dammit.

She knows. She's a smart kid. Smarter than her crazy, paranoid father.

My voice breaks the comfortable silence between us as we watch the local news. "Promise me."

"Don't got to the Dark Side. Got it." She butts me with the side of her head playfully against my chest. "You want me to promise you all the time I won't become that creature in that show." Star Wars is a favorite series of hers, though I can't for the life of me understand why she likes the second trilogy over the first. She's also not too thrilled at how she was represented in the show. There was even a time she considered finding the writers of the episode and tell them how to properly write a script.

No, I mean it. I had to threaten her with a grounding if she even tried to write them.

Chrysalis, ladies and gentlemen has become a science fiction nerd. If I didn't know any better, I'd even guess with some degree of sureness she's learned almost as much as possible from the internet plus more. She loves learning, taking after Twilight Sparkle. However, instead of the unicorn's penchant for anxiety attacks, my daughter has developed a hot-headed approach towards things.

Think Rainbow Dash with brains.

Dammit, I'm not implying she's stupid!

You know what? Forget it. Forget I mentioned it.

A giggling filly on the cusp of marehood asks what I want for dinner. She's banished me from the kitchen in my own house when she decides she wants to make supper. I get up to follow her as she slides from the couch with ease, her legs having grown long and slender As she has grown older, the holes through her legs became larger and fewer in number. Her steps are graceful, naturally regal, her mane long and straight. Her form is slender, perhaps slightly smaller than Princess Luna. My Chrysalis has a smile, warm and genuine. She's playful and I trust her enough to allow her to go outside as she wishes without supervision. My daughter knows better than to be seen. She's even told me how she uses her stealth as a game to follow people or passing cars, night or day.

"What did you have in mind?"

She pauses just as she enters the kitchen. "I was thinking Yankee pot roast."

"Sounds good."

Her horn flares with her magic, her wings humming as cupboard doors swing open, pots and pans and ingredients appearing from them. She scrutinizes the bottles of spices from the spice rack as a rotation of magiked items float around her head. With a few steps, she is in the center of the kitchen and naturally, she decides to show off. From her throat hums a little tune I can't identify, but it's a happy song and I've heard it somewhere before. She's even swaying to her own music, finding what she wants to use to make dinner and setting it neatly on the counter. What she doesn't want goes back where it belongs. The oven turns on without my princess touching a thing, little flecks of green magic flickering as she sets the temperature.

"What's that song you're humming?"

She smiles shyly, a small blush forming on her cheeks. "You don't watch enough Disney, Daddy. It's "Be Our Guest". Now hush and let me cook." Her magic shoves at me gently, like a palm against my breastbone, turning me until it's pushing me out of her little kingdom. "I'll let you know when it's ready!"

I leave her to her task, smiling as she has pretty much become a queen in my house.

The king has fallen. Long cook the queen.

I grin, give up and go to watch the news. As I plop my butt down, I can hear her - not humming now - but singing the song, mostly to herself. Right about then I realize she has an understanding of my fears, perhaps knowing them better herself. Chrysalis wants to enjoy this time she has left with me and she refuses to be sad about it.

Where is this philosophical wisdom coming from? Has she grown that much from within? There's still the matter of the watcher, whoever he or she is. Once a year, we would both sense someone watching us, the same as that day we returned from our summer on the road. It was interested in Chrysalis.

Who was it?

Author's Note

This took a little bit longer to write. I wanted to find a comfortable transition as I don't want to spend multiple chapters spanning years. All input is, of course welcome!