It was a cold day in Trotsky, down on the southern slopes of the Canterhorn. The sun hadn’t shown its face in days thanks to the nigh-impenetrable ceiling of stratus that blanketed the sky to all horizons and even hid the upper portions of the mountain from observation; a steady eastern wind that ruffled the last of the green leaves in the park Chrysalis was wandering through barely did anything to budge the clouds. Perhaps “cloud” was more accurate, though, the white unicorn thought as she glanced up; it certainly didn’t have any of the distinguishing characteristics of being multiple specimens. No borders were visible from below, just an undifferentiated lumpy mass of greyness. Truthfully, it wasn’t even a very appealing grey, either.
The park was almost silent, separated from the main road as it was by a smooth stone wall. Only the slight jingling of the buckles on her silk saddlebags and the crackle of fallen leaves underhoof broke the stillness of the crisp autumn afternoon. It had been a hectic week in Trotsky, with the minor holiday declared in honor of her visit and the issue of the atrocious accommodations for the homeless being taken care of posthaste under her watch. Earth ponies were really quite remarkable in their efficiency, when they really got going – they’d had a shelter up for the wanderers and downtrodden of the area in under two days. In her opinion, that really only made the fact they hadn’t had a good one up before her arrival even more disgraceful.
The path she was on took her closer to the wall. Shivering a little, she pulled her red scarf tighter around her neck and tugged her green mane out from it so it could provide a bit of extra coverage. Autumn in Trotsky was impressively chilly, particularly after spending the summer in her family’s private retreat in Gallopoli in the company of all her friends, minus one (two, she reminded herself; even if she couldn’t remember anypony ever bearing Honesty, Starry had been quite insistent that he’d existed). How the peasants could stand it, she wasn’t sure.
She heard the sound of raised voices on the other side of the wall. Many raised voices – furious, frantic, excited; the sound of a mob. Curious, she reared up and tried to see over the rim of the barrier. In glimpses, she caught sight of maybe forty ponies, foaming at the mouth almost, torches and farming implements in hoof, wearing crimson scarves, like bloody slashes across their throats. It would almost have been comical, except in their midst was a wealthy-looking unicorn stallion with an orange coat and black hair and gold monocle. He looked terrified. He wasn’t moving under his own power.
The mob looked to be heading for the gates of the garden. Chrysalis fell into a fast gallop, hoping to beat them there. Maybe I can intervene, she thought worriedly. What could he have done, I wonder? Embezzling? Theft? Adultery?
The bare oaks flew past as she retraced the path back to the plaza at the park’s entrance. She made it just in time for the leaders of the mob to hurl open the elegant gates, sending them crashing against the white-plastered walls and then rebounding back into the path of the angry ponies. That did nothing to stem the tide, though – in they rushed, a multicolored wave knotting around its victim. A gold-coated mare found a bench on the rim of the plaza as they filled it, and leapt atop it, gaining a commanding view of the crowd. Chrysalis found a spot near the back, straining to see what was going on.
“Bring ye forth the imposter!” the mare screeched. The crowd roared in agreement; there was rough shoving near the front, it seemed, and Chrysalis could see the black mane of the stallion jerk forwards. The mare grinned ferally. “Thou art a Changeling monster, freak!” she declared. “We have the testimony of thy ‘wife’ that thou art not what thou appearest to be!”
“Please, I don’t know what you’re talking about!” the stallion pleaded. His voice was thin with fear. “I swear, I’m no Changeling! Stop this insanity I beg you!” The mob’s frenzied voice crescendoed from its low background murmur. They did not believe him one bit, it seemed.
“Silence!” the mare commanded. “Bring ye forth Dewdrop! We shall have her testimony!”
More motion near the front; a pale blue mane moved forward. Its bearer hopped up on the bench next to the leader, revealing herself to be a middle-aged mare about the right age to be the stallion’s wife. Her coat was pale grey; her cutie mark was a bucket of water. She looked to have been crying.
“Dewdrop,” the leader started. “Tell us how thou didst first – “
“Where is he?” Dewdrop wailed. It didn’t take a genius to figure out who she was addressing. “Where did you take my husband? What have you done to him?”
“Dewdrop.” The leader’s voice was sympathetic. She draped a foreleg over Dewdrop’s neck comfortingly. “We’ll find him, fearest thou not. Tell us how thou learnt he was an impostor.”
“Last night,” she managed to reply. “I-I-I had come home late, and I’d thought he was asleep, b-but when I went upstairs and told him I was home, I-I-I saw a flash of green light from our bedchambers – “
“I was merely casting a mane-styling spell, love!” the stallion pleaded. “My eyes – my magic! Both are green!”
The crowd let out another roar of barely-contained rage, drowning out Dewdrop’s next few words. Chrysalis only caught the last half of her accusation.
“ – don’t just change color!” she sobbed. “I trusted you, but I was wrong!”
“Changeling!” the leader proclaimed triumphantly. Another roar. “You are a Changeling harvester and an abomination! Where is the true Plentiful Harvest?”
“I am – “
The leader jumped from her perch and landed on the stallion’s foreleg. The sound of bone snapping was only slightly less revolting than the scream of agony that followed. A flare of green fire rose up from the ground, and where the stallion had been a black-shelled, tatter-winged equinoid creature now stood. The mob exulted. Their leader returned to the bench, a smug grin on her face.
“Changeling!” she screamed.
“Changeling!” the crowd answered.
“Where is Plentiful Harvest?” she demanded. “Tell us, or I will break the rest of your legs!”
“H-h-he is i-in the abandoned shack by the east field!” the Changeling relented. How it could manage to speak through the fresh pain of a snapped limb, Chrysalis didn’t know, but it felt the pain, that was certain; it was audible in its voice. “P-please, don’t – “
“Silence!” The leader pointed into the mob. “Ye! Get out to the shack and confirm his location. Return as quickly as possible!” A pair of younger mares detached themselves from the crowd and shot out through the gate as fast as their legs could carry them. Truly they must have been impressive runners; it was hardly a half hour of uneasy, charged quiet before one returned.
“He is there, emaciated yet alive!” the runner shouted as soon as she was back through the gate. “Honeysuckle is bringing him to the infirmary!” At that, with a mix between a laugh and a sob, Dewdrop jumped off the bench and raced out the gate of the park. Chrysalis smiled; the victim had been found, the Changeling had been unveiled. As was proper, the creature would be escorted into the wilderness, and –
“Find ye a length of rope!”
Chrysalis stiffened at that proclamation. Surely, they didn’t intend to actually…kill it?
The crowd howled in approval. Ponies began detaching themselves from the edges and racing out into the village again, their excitement visible. Almost as one, the rest began to shuffle towards a tree near the edge of the plaza. The lead mare remained atop the bench, her smug grin becoming bloodthirsty.
“Execution!” she screamed. “Kill the Changeling! Kill it!” With a great deal less unity, the crowd tried to repeat all three declarations.
“This is wrong,” Chrysalis whispered to herself. She started forward, shoving roughly into the crowd. “They cannot do this! It is a living being as well!”
“Rope!” somepony called out from the direction of the gate. The mob parted to let the stallion through, penning Chrysalis in with the bodies of its constituents. She caught a glimpse of the bearer of the rope, a crimson stallion with a square knot for a mark and a manic look in his eye. He was at the tree in moments, the rope already looping over a sturdy-looking branch. Chrysalis had no doubt it’d be tied in a hangman’s noose before she could reach the front, especially if the crowd remained like this, and especially especially if they started to move the Changeling towards the site of the hanging – like they were doing now – and she felt sick. They couldn’t kill it! Changeling or not, monster or not, it deserved life as much as any pony. She wanted to shout it out, to try to get it through to the ponies around her – This is wrong! You cannot kill it! – but her queasiness, as bad as it was thinking about a Changeling being hung, grew even worse when she thought of interrupting the obscene punishment. They’d cast her out, for sure, even if she did save it; her reputation would be ruined! What would her friends think? Sunny, at least, held a deep antipathy for the parasitic race; Sombra would see it as a necessary evil. Starry had made her opinion on Changelings quite clear during their last run-in with them, too. Discord…well, Discord couldn’t be reached for comment.
Gripped by indecision, she could only watch as the noose was tied and the Changeling was shoved roughly towards it. The mob’s leader had maneuvered through the crowd to get another commanding position next to the noose.
Honesty wouldn’t approve of her backing down at all.
A fragment of a memory – less than a fragment, an impression of a fragment – crossed Chrysalis’s mind. Honesty would support her if she intervened. And the Element of Generosity, well…she’d given all she could to help her friends and to help ponykind at large. Her image was just one more thing she could give away to help someone.
Her horn was flickering before she even knew it. The ponies around her made surprised noises as she lifted them all into the air out of her way. The rest of the crowd cleared a path for her, giving her a straight shot towards the golden mare that dared command the murder of another being.
“Bearer?” the leader said uncertainly. She cleared her throat. “I – “
“I saw what happened,” Chrysalis cut her off. She dropped the ponies behind her and trotted forward, conscious of the puzzled looks she was at the focus of. “Killing is wrong. Plentiful Harvest remains alive yet. The death of this Changeling is uncalled for.”
The Changeling eyed her warily as she approached. Its compound eyes flexed slightly to keep her in focus; they widened in an almost pony-like expression of surprise as her magic enveloped its broken leg and began to knit the chitin back together. Chryalis turned back towards the leader, meeting her hostile glare with a dignified look of her own. “I shall escort it personally to the edge of town and it shall be dealt with properly.”
“Kill it!” Somepony in the crowd shouted. “It’ll just be back!”
“Changelings put my mother in the Quiet Ward!” somepony else added furiously. “Kill it!”
“Kill it!”
“Kill it!”
The golden mare smiled, regaining a bit of her confidence. Her almost childish look of sullen hostility became something closer to the look a chess player got when she suddenly realized her foe was in checkmate. “Kill it!” she shouted. And the crowd surged.
Chrysalis kept a bubble of magic around herself to avoid being trampled; her aura around the Changeling changed from one of healing to a telekinetic grasp that let her jerk the creature out of the range of the earth ponies. The mob turned its attention to her, bucking at her shield so they could reach her. If the shield fell – and the strain they were putting on it left little chance for any other outcomes – se would be overwhelmed, and the Changeling would die. Hay, she might die, as a sympathizer.
Putting as much of herself as she dared into her magic, Chrysalis expanded the shield out in an instant, making it into a shockwave that flattened most of the crowd. Her magic ebbed, forcing her to drop the Changeling; its hiss of pain told her its leg wasn’t fully healed yet, but if they didn’t leave immediately they would both be in mortal danger.
“Canst thou run?” she asked it.
“I can move,” it answered.
“I believe it may be prudent for us to flee,” she quipped. The ponies were already rising to their hooves again. The Changeling nodded.
“Follow me,” it ordered. With a sound like a thousand bumblebees flying past all at once, it hurled itself into the air and shot towards the gate. Chrysalis was hard-pressed to keep up; the creature hovered over the road outside the park, waiting for her to catch up, and flew north once she was below it. Ponies on the street jumped out of Chrysalis’s way as they passed, for a while; then, one of the runners from earlier managed to catch up.
“The Element of Generosity is in league with the Changelings!” the mare shouted. “Stop them! The Changeling impersonated Plentiful Harvest! Kill the Changeling! Kill it!”
After that, it was like fighting her way through one of Discord’s armies of deranged squirrels again. The streets became a labyrinth of potential traps. Her only comfort was that there was no agricultural job that required a ranged tool. Even so, spades and hoes flew through the air around her and the Changeling with startling frequency.
Trotsky was not a large town. It took scant minutes to escape the place; they came to a rest by the side of the winding road up the mountain. Chrysalis flopped against a tree tiredly, panting for breath. She was grateful for the clouds, for the first time in her visit – if it had been sunny, she had no doubt she would have collapsed of exhaustion somewhere between the park and the last farmhouse.
“That…” she gasped, smiling a little. “That was exciting. Perhaps we should do it again sometime?”
The Changeling looked at her uncertainly for a few moments before smiling slightly. The sight was a bit disturbing thanks to its fangs. “Yes,” it answered. “Perhaps.”
The sound of hoofbeats began to reach them from down the road. The trees on the Canterhorn slopes were thick, old-growth firs, and the road was riddled with hairpin curves. The ponies of Trotsky couldn’t see them, but that didn’t seem like it was holding them up.
“They will search the forest,” the Changeling declared. “Saving me was unwise of thee. Why didst thou do it?”
“Helping others is what I do, my Changeling friend,” Chrysalis grinned. “Killing thee would have been wrong, morally and legally. I could not stand aside for that. Additionally – thou art a thinking being. Thou deservest life.”
The Changeling nodded. “Thine aid is appreciated. I am indebted.” It smiled. “I shall repay this debt immediately. They will hunt thee relentlessly for this, pony. Thou hast helped the Hive – I would be honored to welcome thee into it, for shelter, for as long as necessary.”
“Any port in a storm,” she replied. “I am Chrysalis, Changeling. Shall we be off?”
Angry voices were audible now. The hoofbeats were louder. The Changeling nodded once more. “That would be wise, Chrysalis,” it agreed. “And…I am Dancer.”
Chrysalis set aside her surprise that the Changeling – as undifferentiable as the clouds overhead, in her eyes – had a name, and followed at a brisk trot as it started flying up the mountain again.
It was a male, she learned. He was a mere three years old, mature for two years; his last molt had been a month ago. He disliked infiltration missions, but did them as the Queen ordered, as the Hive wasn’t large enough for specializations to be respected. Given a choice, he would have preferred to tend the hatcheries, or teach the nymphs, or the fungus farms that provided basic nutritional requirements that love couldn’t substitute for. He was unique, Chrysalis learned, as they went off-road and stumbled through the trees in a general upwardly direction. She could even see outward signs of it in his appearance now, too – his left wing, for example, was situated slightly further forward than the other. He always folded the left wing atop the right wing when he rested for that reason.
They took another break in a small, flat clearing; a rocky ledge jutting out of the mountainside, with soil too shallow to support anything larger than grass. It offered a spectacular view of the clouds from above; the sun was dipping lower in the sky, setting the rough top of the stratus ablaze with orange light.
“It is not much farther now,” Dancer said, as Chrysalis looked out over the cloud layer. “Another five minutes, perhaps. We should press on now.”
“What will it look like?” she asked curiously. Her head was beginning to throb slightly, a delayed side effect of magical overexertion from the escape. She hoped it wouldn’t progress to a full burnout. “Is it a castle?”
“It is a hole in the ground,” he answered simply. “A cave. We do not advertise our presence, for obvious reasons.”
“Understandable,” Chrysalis agreed. She hesitated slightly before asking, “Of the matter in the park…”
“Yes?”
“Is…” Did she really want to know? “Is…that a common reaction? A lynching?” She practically spat the word out; few words in Equish could match that one for ugliness, she thought.
To her dismay, Dancer nodded. “We are not popular, we Changelings, amongst our food. Harvesters often never return.”
“Of…of course.” She stilled the stirrings of doubt that had begun. Parasite or not, Dancer had not deserved to die.
Had he?
He glanced north, into the treeline. “We must arrive before nightfall. There will be guards posted at the entrance. If they scent pony before they see Changeling, they will not hesitate to protect the Hive at our expense.”
Chrysalis stood. “Very well. Lead the way.”
She followed Dancer back into the undergrowth. The forest floor of the Canterhorn Woods was choked with brambles and ferns and bushes and tall grass; a sword would not have been considered improper gear to bring on a trip into the woods. Thankfully, it was at a suitable enough remove from the accursed Everfree that the only fauna they disturbed were adorable squirrels and slightly less adorable squirrel-eating tree snakes. She winced as one of the slick-looking green serpents caught a smaller specimen of its prey and began to engulf it. Dancer hardly noticed.
They came to a sheer rock wall, hung with broad-leafed vines.
“Up there is the entrance to our Hive,” he said, looking up at the top of the wall. “Thou wilt be the first Other to set foot within.”
“How do we get up there?” Chrysalis asked, eying the wall. “Thou mayest simply fly up, but I am much more limited in my abilities.”
“We walk,” he replied, and he did. He surprised her by stepping on a seemingly undifferentiated patch of vine and revealing what the plants had hidden – there was a notch in the wall, tall and deep enough for a pony to walk comfortably in, that acted as a ramp up the top of the small cliff. She made sure to step only where Dancer stepped, in case it was really a series of small ledges and not a unified whole. They made it safely to the top, emerging into another clearing. There was another cliff face across it from them; this one had a cave entrance in it, like a black maw ready to swallow any unsuspecting equine that stumbled into it.
Before they could start walking again, a pair of Changelings buzzed out of the cave, the droning of their wings echoing startlingly loudly across the gap in the trees. When they landed in front of Chrysalis and Dancer, she realized that she could actually pick out identifying characteristics on them as well. The Changeling on the left had a slightly brighter line crossing one eye, a scar maybe; the one on the right had the more easily visible attribute of all the holes on his right foreleg lining up perfectly.
“You’ve brought a pony to the Hive,” the left Changeling said. Compared to Dancer’s, her voice was distinctly feminine. “You are neither afraid nor nervous. This is uncoerced?”
“You’re hurt,” the Changeling on the right, also a female, realized, with some surprise. “What happened to your foreleg?”
“We had a run-in with a lynch mob,” Dancer explained. “If it was not for this pony, I would be dead by now. They are after her and I offered her sanctuary.”
“What is thy name?” the left one asked Chrysalis.
“I am Chrysalis, Bearer of the Element of Generosity, of Unicornia,” she answered. Satisfyingly, the eyes of both guards widened.
“Bringing her here was a mistake, Dancer,” the right Changeling muttered. “We cannot feed a pony. We can hardly feed ourselves!”
“I am glad she saved your life, but to shelter her in the Hive…” The left shook her head. “She can’t stay, Dancer.”
“She mended my broken leg, or was when she was interrupted,” Dancer countered. “Is…”
“No improvement. Worse, even,” the right answered sadly. More hopefully, “You think…”
“We have no other options,” he said gravely. He looked to Chrysalis. “We have need of thee.”
She nodded. “What do I have to do?”
The left Changeling galloped for the Hive entrance. “Follow me.”
Through the darkened crystal labyrinth of the Hive they went. Changelings stared in curiosity as they passed – a pony in the Hive? What was going on? If only Chrysalis knew, herself, she might have been able to answer. As it was, though, she was forced to gallop to keep up with the much more athletic Changeling guard, hopping nimbly aside to avoid collisions with other Changelings that were too slow to dodge out of the way. Even with her best efforts, though, she was too slow in several cases, and winced as she clipped the hard shells of the Hive’s residents, shouting apologies back over her shoulder as she ran.
As she rounded a corner, she scrambled to slow down as she saw a Changeling with a set of wicker baskets crammed with unappetizing grey-green lumps of fungus appear in her field of view. They collided; foodstuffs scattered across the almost glassy floor of the triangular tunnel. The Changeling was knocked over. Chrysalis helped it back to its feet before lighting her horn to aid in the recovery of the food.
The guard landed next to her and shoved her forwards. “There is no time. She can deal with this herself.”
With an apologetic glance at the Changeling, Chrysalis nodded to the guard and resumed her gallop.
The tunnels began to slope downwards more and more steeply. They passed through what Chrysalis assumed was the hatchery floor, where she took extra care not to cause a collision and accidentally destroy a precious cargo of eggs; they passed through a level of fungus farms, descending a long open-air spiral staircase through a vast cavern lit only by scattered bioluminescent mushrooms, where the smell of sewage filled the air and mounds of waste were coated with lumpy edible fungi and crawling with farmers. They raced through long galleries of dark crystal, where Changelings decorated with golden ornamentation spoke in hushed tones in sconces in the walls.
Finally, after nearly an hour of running, they came to an immense atrium; a truly cavernous chamber, supported by thick pillars at regular intervals. Light was provided by a great white stone set into the ceiling, casting much of the chamber in deep shadow. Set into the far wall was a large arched door, sealed tightly shut, and blocked by ten heavily armored, larger-than-normal Changelings. As they approached, the soldiers shifted into fighting stances, heads lowered to present their curving horns, legs spread for stability.
“The Queen has ordered that no Changeling be allowed entrance,” one of the soldiers declared. “Go away.”
“We’ve found someone who can help,” the guard protested. “She isn’t a Changeling!”
The soldiers shared uncertain looks. “You have brought a pony to help the Queen?”
“A unicorn,” the guard confirmed. “She has some skill with healing spells. She saved Dancer’s life today.”
The soldier that had spoken sighed. “If there is a chance…” The soldiers relaxed and stood aside. Chrysalis hesitated, but the guard urged her forwards. She crossed the space between herself and the door, and, feeling like she was walking to her own execution, slipped through.
The other side of the door was what Chrysalis could only call a throne room, despite how dark it was. A single ray of sunlight poured through a hole in the roof, casting the entire circular chamber in dim grey light. The walls were hung at regular intervals with opulent banners, decorated with an unfamiliar symbol – a variation on the typical Pegasi standard of a pegasus in flight; the Changeling variant had wings more reminiscent of a butterfly than a bird. The pillars were carved black crystal, merging seamlessly with the floor; in the heart of the chamber, atop a stepped circular dais, there was a throne that rose like a wide-capped mushroom out of it. Listlessly curled up on the throne was a being Chrysalis could only assume was the Changeling queen.
“Who enters the throne room?” the Queen called out weakly. Her voice was barely audible from the door, but the dry, rattling cough that followed it was much easier to hear. “I cannot sense your name yet…are you of my Hive?” She laughed. “Is that you, Mort? I’ve always enjoyed your visits…has my time come already, before my heir has revealed herself?”
“I am Chrysalis!” she answered. She started trotting towards the dais, taking in more of her surroundings as she did. The banners were tattered, ripped and torn and dirty; around the bases of the pillars and walls, she could see a few desiccated husks of Changelings. They’d been dead for some time; she wasn’t sure what had killed them. If the damage was from them, then it seemed whatever had killed them had driven them mad first.
She came to a halt at the base of the dais, cringing at the sight of the Queen a little. Her chitin had taken on a faint yellow tint; her pony-like eyes, likewise. Her wings looked brittle enough that a good, stiff breeze could plausibly crumble them to dust; they were jaundiced as well. Her breathing was audible as a dry, rasping, unhealthy noise. It was a disease of some sort, but Chrysalis didn’t know which.
“Chrysalis,” the Queen chuckled. “A rather fitting name, for a Changeling…”
“I’m not a Changeling,” Chrysalis said. She started up the steps. “I’m a unicorn – the Bearer of the Element of Generosity. A Changeling named Dancer brought me here to…heal you, I suppose.”
The Queen laughed again. “Tell me, little pony, do I look like I can be healed?”
Chrysalis shook her head slowly. No, she didn’t. She looked like she was already on the other side of Death’s door, frankly. The Queen nodded in agreement.
“It’s too late for me,” she sighed. Another round of coughing; then, “I’ve known it for weeks, but I did not want my children to lose hope…”
“Perhaps you should have told them?”
“Perhaps I should have,” she agreed. There was a brief beat of silence. “They can feel me dying. I wish I could allow them in, but the illness” – more coughing – “They’d all be dead in hours. My attendants were.” One of her forelegs shifted, either intended as a wave to encompass the entirety of the throne room or just to make her more comfortable. “My friends…I hope Mort comes soon. I would hate to die alone…”
“I am here.”
“Not yet.”
The room fell silent for a little, the quiet broken only by the occasional cough. Chrysalis worried slightly that whatever the Queen had was catching, but reminded herself that diseases tended not to cross species; fireblight devastated trees and wouldn’t touch ponies, blood-lung was the bane of equinoids everywhere but wolves were completely unaffected by it. She told herself that she was safe.
“It’s been lonely in here,” the Queen said, eventually. “They haven’t been much for conversation.” Chrysalis assumed she meant the dead Changelings that were strewn about. “An hour of clawing at the upholstery and then kaput. So” – she coughed – “boring. Death really is, isn’t it, Mort? No offense intended…” They were still alone in the room, so far as Chrysalis could tell. Silence again.
It was another hour before the Queen spoke again. “I hope they get along well without me. There’s been shortages, you know. Not” – coughing – “of fungus. The worst-tasting stuff always lasts longest. But of love.” She looked accusingly at Chrysalis. “You ponies are getting better at it. Stealing our love. Wasted” – coughing – “on you all.”
“Your love?” Chrysalis exclaimed indignantly. The Queen showed no sign of having heard it; her head lolled over until she was staring vacantly at one of the banners, which she continued to do for another half hour or so. The sunlight through the hole was getting dimmer; shadows were starting to deepen and encroach on the well-lit island of the throne.
“I would have liked to die in the sunlight,” the Queen muttered. “I suppose I had better get on with it. I wish I’d left an heir…”
“Aren’t all the Changelings your children?” Chrysalis asked, puzzled. “Surely, you have an unlimited supply of – “
“No!” the Queen coughed. Her voice was filled with regret and something approaching anger. “None of them can do it, none! Always, one is specially selected from their ranks – myself, my mother before me, her mother before her, her great-grandmother before them both – but I have found none! None with the qualities of a Queen! None! None!” She degenerated into a spasmodic fit of coughing, hardly able to draw breath for long minutes. When it finally subsided, in a much softer tone, she repeated it. “None. None…none disobeyed me. Not one of them came to stand by my deathbed. Stupid, if they had, but that one – she would have been Queen.” She looked past Chrysalis, towards the door. The unicorn followed her gaze; there was nobody there.
“He’s here for me,” the Queen wheezed. “I’m not ready yet, old friend…not yet! My heir hasn’t shown…no. Perhaps.” Chrysalis took a step back as the Queen suddenly shifted, sliding forward off the throne she’d been laying on until she hit the floor with a dull thump. Painfully, she managed to stand, rising until she towered over Chrysalis – the Changeling Queen was almost double the height of a unicorn! She looked down at Chrysalis, her eyes clear. “You alone came. I” – coughing; the Queen almost collapsed then and there, but she managed to continue standing – “have not found an heir from my own Hive. I won’t now. Maybe I never would. I was looking in the wrong place. Chrysalis, Unicorn Bearer of the Element of Generosity…”
Her legs finally gave out. Chrysalis managed to catch her head before it hit the floor, and felt a jolt of magic shoot through her body. For half a moment, her mind was crowded with thousands of distant impressions of alien minds, streams of happiness and anger and curiosity and wonder and joy and hatred and above all else, sadness, but they faded into the background after a few seconds. The Queen smiled up at her.
“I name thee my heir,” she said. Without further fanfare, the Queen of the Changelings died. Frozen, Chrysalis remained there until the shaft of sunlight vanished entirely, still holding the last Queen’s head off the floor, and wondering how it was that a simple walk in the park had gone so badly wrong.