Shedding Your Skin

Before she even realized what she was doing, Briar found herself at Ironwood’s side. This close, there was no doubt about the crimson stains on his fur: Their thick, coppery scent was instantly identifiable. Ironwood’s blood had been spilled.

He’d been assaulted. Attacked. Briar swallowed, her legs shaking.

Ironwood’s crumpled form trembled on the ground, a shadow covering his face. His mane was matted with blood, and one of its limbs twisted at an unnatural angle. The trail of red ended beneath his legs.

“No,” Briar whispered. She took his head in her hooves. “No, no, no!”

Ironwood’s eyelids fluttered. “B-briar.”

“I’m here,” she said. “I’m here.”

“There was...a mob,” he said. “Yarrow’s...wife. Gave birth. Foal had green eyes. Mark on its neck.”

Briar’s blood went ice-cold. “That’s not possible,” she whispered.

“Thought you’d cursed them.” Ironwood turned to the side and coughed as though retching. Dark red spattered the grass. “I...tried to stop them.”

“Shush,” she said. “Don’t speak. You’ll only hurt yourself further.”

“I’m sorry,” Ironwood said. “They...they were marching into the woods. To find you. One of them...said he knew where to find you.”

The cottage. They couldn’t know. Briar swallowed.

But maybe they did.

Matron wasn’t safe.

“One…hit me. Right here.” Ironwood held a weak hoof up to point at the side of his head. “Blacked out. Crawled away here. Briar, I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” she said. “It’s not your fault. Please stop talking—I can find some herbs. I can help.”

He closed his eyes. “I don’t think that this is the kind of thing…that I can walk away from.”

“But—“

Please,” he said, coughing again. “D-don’t worry about me. You need to escape. You can’t let them hurt you.”

Tears dripped from Briar’s eyes. Her vision blurred, and her lungs felt like they were trying to tear themselves from her chest. “But you can’t die! I lo—“

She choked on the words.

Ironwood watched her, the kindness never leaving his face. “I—I know.”

There had to be a way. There had to be a cure; some kind of fix. This was Ironwood; he couldn’t die—

Slowly, his eyes fluttered shut.

No.

“No,” Briar said. “No. No. No. Ironwood—“

But he didn’t answer. His body lay quietly, silent on the grass. Briar collapsed onto his chest, her sobs shaking her body and his.

She let the tears come this time, streaming down her face. She took his head in her hooves and laid her head across his chest. “No,” she said again, that one word the only coherent thought in her mind. She lay there, with sobs wracking her body as Ironwood sat, unmoving, beneath her weight. “No—please, no.”

And then she remembered.

They knew where to find her.

“Matron,” she whispered, tears streaming down her face. “Oh, no.”

She unsteadily got to her hooves, squeezing her eyes shut as Ironwood’s unmoving body filled her vision. “I’m sorry,” she choked out—and fled.

The sky was dark overhead as she galloped through the night, without a single shard of moonlight to guide her way. Yet she knew the way by heart, and so, stumbling over roots and staggering around thornbushes, finally arrived in the clearing that held Matron’s cottage.

Most of the woods were in shadow. As she moved past the halfway point, though, the wisps of cloud moved—letting silver light flood the woods once more.

Briar’s hooves froze beneath her.

The front door of the cottage had been ripped off of its hinges. Iit lay on the forest floor a whole five paces away from the steps, as though it had been torn off and then flung away. One of the windows had been smashed, with cracks spiderwebbing over its glass surface.

“No,” she whispered. “No. No, no, no.”

The steps were stained a dull red, crimson liquid pooling at their base. Her throat seized.

“No!”

She rushed into the house, hooves galloping over the damp soil. She all but flung herself inside, the front door no longer an obstacle to her entrance. Her eyes were wide, her chest seizing with every breath.

“Matron!” she called out as she burst into the cottage. “Matron, are you here?”

Her breath caught in her chest.

The inside of the cottage had been ransacked as much as the outside. Masks had been torn from the walls and smashed onto the floor. Dishes from the sink lay in pieces on the floor, broken china mixing with pools of spilled water. The room looked like it’d been hit by a tornado—and Matron was nowhere to be found.

“Matron!” Briar cried, stumbling inside. “Matron!”

She teared through the rooms—her bedroom was, surprisingly, untouched; Matron’s own small room, which she’d rarely ever entered, was empty as well. She left Matron’s bedroom with her legs shaking and her vision blurred by tears. Phlegm dripped down her throat and choked her even further.

A pair of knitting needles lay on the floor by Matron’s armchair, abandoned.

Briar tore back outside. One of her hooves caught on a shard of broken glass that had been left beneath the window. She barely felt the sharp, stabbing pain even as blood leaked from her hoof and onto the ground. She stood back in the clearing outside the cottage, the silver light of the moon shining down on her.

“Matron!” she shrieked. “Matron!”

She screamed Matron’s name until her throat had been rubbed raw—and still she rasped, begging, pleading for Matron to return. Yet the trees remained silent, refusing to answer with even the slightest reply.

Briar collapsed to her knees.

“Matron—please,” she sobbed. “This isn’t funny. First I-Ironwood, and now you—please just be hiding. Please.”

Nothing.

And then she remembered.

There was one more place—one place she hadn’t looked. One room that had been Matron’s sanctuary, hiding her in the night. A room of power.

“Matron’s study,” Briar whispered to herself. She slowly got to her hooves, though every muscle in her body screamed at her to stop. Her hoof throbbed with pain, blood still leaking from where the glass had pierced her skin—but she pushed the feeling away and limped back inside

The silence within the cottage was deafening. It lay upon her shoulders like a shroud, and each creak of the floor beneath Briar’s hooves echoed like a crack of thunder. She stepped through the main room and turned to the side.

The door to the study was closed, the handle still in place—but a bright yellow light spilled from the crack beneath. She raised a trembling hoof and turned the handle.

The door swung open without even a creak, and Briar stepped inside.

Some part of her instantly knew that something was different in this room. The decor itself stood out: Strange jars lined the walls, and shelves creaked with heavy tomes whose titles had been scrawled in languages that Briar had never seen. The walls, unlike the rest of the cottage, were a dark, heavy brown, and the air was thick with…

Briar’s nose twitched. She knew that smell—from when she’d found the remnants of an abandoned mine out in the Cliffs. Matron had told her what it was.

Sulfur.

She carefully stepped further inside, the door swinging shut behind her. Her eyes flickered toward the back of the room. There was the desk sitting there, the single candle still flickering on its surface. There were the jars lining the walls, their contents drifting through clouded, dark fluid.

And there was the book, larger than all others, sitting patiently in the center of the desk.

Something whispered in her ear, words unintelligible, but the meaning clear. She found herself stepping toward the desk—and then stepping again, and again, until she was standing directly over its wooden surface, remnants of tears falling to leave blotches on the paper below.

She wanted to turn away, to leave, to cry—but something kept her here, staring into the pages of this strange book. She reached out a hoof to touch it—and jerked when she felt the texture of the spine.

Leather. Animal skin.

Briar swallowed. She wanted to turn back. She wanted to close the door and leave this book behind.

But she couldn’t return now. The book was beneath her hooves, and every other door had slammed shut behind her. She opened it to the first page.

The very text seemed to writhe on the page, spidery script twisting and turning around and into the paper on which it lay. She could just barely make out a word here and there if she squinted—at least it was written in a language that she could understand.

“Life,” she murmured, staring down at the page. “Life. There has to be something in here about life.”

She flipped through the pages, the paper blurring before her eyes. Her feverish mutterings echoed in the room, sounding dark and sinister in her own ears. But it made sense—magic could do anything. It could heal. It could harm.

Ironwood’s face flickered in the back of her mind.

There had to be magic that could bring a pony back to life.

On and on she searched, turning the page, squinting at the first few lines, and then flipping to the next one. Some pages seemed to hold stories, while others held ingredient lists for potions or spells. More than one was filled with the image of a plant or creature—and not all looked natural or friendly.

Sweat had begun to bead on her forehead. This book was much bigger than it appeared—how many pages had she turned? How many chapters?

How much time had passed?

She glanced up. The candle had burned no lower in the time that she had been searching. The flame, though, had shifted—no longer was it a bright, cheery yellow, but a blood-red crimson. Briar’s eyes themselves were bloodshot, her head throbbing with each heartbeat.

On she searched, her pace not slowing as the seconds and minutes drew on. There had to be something in here—something that could bring him back. She found potions to cure warts, incantations to bring a hex upon yeast, but nothing to cure or alleviate death.

A dawning horror twitched at the back of her mind. There was nothing here. Nothing could bring Ironwood back to her. Matron was gone—likely dead as well, her corpse lying abandoned in a  ditch somewhere in the woods. They weren’t coming back, and there was nothing she could do—

Briar stopped searching. Her hoof landed on a final page, shivering as if dipped in ice.

No. Her lip curled, her breath calming from uneven gasps to a steady pulse. There was something else that she could do.

Revenge.

She would find those that had done this, and she would make them pay.

Her eyes flickered down to the page she’d stopped on. It was the image of an alien creature—shaped like a pony, yet with black, glimmering skin. There were holes in its legs and body, and a jagged horn stood straight up from its skull. A pair of blue-grey wings, not dissimilar from those on a dragonfly, stood out from its back. Its eyes were those of an insect: blue-grey, like the wings, and multifaceted. The artist had rendered these with extra care, somehow depicting the full features of a bleeding, terrified stallion in each of those individual pupils.

The Changeling

Briar read on.

The changeling, she learned, was an ancient, lost species. As their name suggested, they held the ability to change their shape to resemble those they fed upon—their prey, she read, was the love of a victim pony. Born and bred with both wings and horn, the changelings used their fangs and magic to fight. They formed a single, powerful Mind—unlike the individual soul of a pony’s, the changeling hive was a singular, undivided creature.

Once, the book said, the skies were black with changelings. Their wings blocked out the sun, their buzz driving all who heard it to insanity.

Beneath the description lay text describing a simple ritual: to bring forth the changeling hivemind from its slumber. The speaker of such a spell, the book said, would gain dominion over a force of changelings for a short period of time—enough, Briar realized, to punish the villagers for what they had done.

After attacking one of their own, it was only fitting that they would be destroyed by things wearing their own faces.

The room was well-stocked, and she was easily able to find the ingredients needed for the ritual. There were a mortar and pestle sitting on the desk, and as she ground the ingredients together, a thick, deep green smoke began to spread through the room. Her eyes watered, but she forced herself to turn back to the page and read.

The letters she understood; the language she did not. As she spoke the first word of the ritual, struggling past the squirming, shifting nature of the text, she did not hear her own voice so much as an echo. She read the next syllable and heard a hiss, worming through her ears and curving in the air.

She read on, the words forming in her mind with each new syllable. These were no incantations, no spells or charms that she was reciting. This was something deeper. Something darker.

As she reached the halfway point, she faltered. The darkness in the room had coalesced and seemed to throb with each syllable she spoke. She breathed in, and the smoke poured into her throat, choking her and forcing back the words. With her eyes and throat burning, she forced the next word out. She would not give up. She would not let Ironwood die in vain.

She would have her revenge.

With a note of triumph and defiance, she reached the final syllable. It crashed in her ears like a peal of lightning. The walls and floor shook around her, the air twisting and churning—

The candle went out, and the room as plunged into darkness. Before Briar could react, however, a new light appeared.

It came from behind her, flickering across the walls like starlight in a pond. That prickling—that feeling of being watched—returned, screaming at her to run, to hide, to freeze—but she forced it back down.

Slowly, her shoulders set and her teeth grit, Briar turned around to face the source of the light.

It was an eye.

No pony stared from its depths, however. Its surface was divided into thousands of individual pupils, each glimmering a sickly green. Each bore a blurred image, and with a start, Briar realized that the image was of herself—yet it was no reflection.

One image showed her alone in a dirt road, emaciated and bloody. Another held the backdrop of a forest; she stood over the corpse of a beast, its entail torn out and blood dripping from her lips. In another, she watched herself burning in an inferno, though whether she was screaming or laughing, she could not tell.

YOU HAVE SUMMONED US.

The voice smashed through Briar’s skull, piercing it with a thousand burning lances. She grunted in pain and squeezed her eyes shut in an effort to keep herself under control.

“Yes,” she choked out. “I did.”

FOR WHAT PURPOSE?

“I wanted revenge,” she said. “I need your power.”

The eye regarded her coolly. In a moment of horror and disgust, she realized that each of those images was looking straight at her—as though a multitude of Briars was staring past her eyes and into her soul. FOR WHAT PURPOSE? it asked again.

“The villagers,” she said. The words poured out of her. “They killed Ironwood, and they need to pay for what they’ve done.”

IRONWOOD, the voice rumbled.

“He was—“

THE LOVE OF YOUR LIFE.

Her breath caught in her chest.

“N-no,” she said, voice shaking. “He—“

WE DO NOT DISAPPROVE, the voice rumbled. WE, TOO, HUNGER FOR LOVE. TO HAVE NEVER KNOWN, AND TO DESIRE IT. TO HUNGER. TO FEED.

And then she recognized the voice she heard.

Goodnight, my sweet chrysalis.

You can leave her behind.

Use it. There’s no use denying it any longer

“It’s you,” she whispered. “It’s been you all along. Whispering in my ear. All this time, I thought that they were my own thoughts—but you’ve been watching me this whole time.”

But for what?

For this.

The eye stared at her, and Briar squirmed beneath its gaze. It felt as though she were being weighed—like flour or water. Pieces. Unmade. Not even a pony.

“Will you help me, then?” she demanded, some of the strength returning to her voice. “Or not?”

THAT DEPENDS ON WHAT YOU MEAN BY HELP.

“What do you mean?”

WE CAN PROVIDE A FORCE, the voice rumbled. A SMALL ONE. A GROUP OF CHANGELINGS TO SERVE AT YOUR WILL. WE WILL OBEY YOU, AND IN TURN, YOU WILL PROVIDE FOR THEM SUSTENANCE FROM THESE VILLAGERS THAT YOU SO WANT TO DESTROY. THAT IS ONE OPTION.

“And the other one?”

WE ARE AN ANCIENT RACE. FORGOTTEN. WE SLUMBER BENEATH THE EARTH, AND TO THE EARTH WE WILL RETURN WHEN OUR CONTRACT IS COMPLETE. THIS SPELL IS THE ONLY MEANS BY WHICH WE MAY COMMUNICATE WITH THE WORLD BEYOND.

Briar’s eyes widened. “You want to do more than that,” she said. “You want to be able to come back on your own.”

YES. BUT FOR THIS PURPOSE, WE REQUIRE A LEADER STRONG ENOUGH TO RAISE US FROM OUR ETERNAL SLUMBER, AND TO SCOUR THE WORLD ONCE MORE. WE REQUIRE A QUEEN.

“A—“

Briar’s voice caught in her throat. “A queen.”

YES.

“You—you can’t—you can’t want me for this.”

AND WHY NOT? Each image in the eye’s depths watched her unblinkingly, their gazes never flickering. WE ARE THE HIVE. YOU ARE THE ONE WITHOUT LOVE. WE ARE MORE ALIKE THAN YOU MAY REALIZE.

“I—I don’t know—“

IF YOU REJECT THIS OFFER, WE WILL NOT TURN AWAY. YOU WILL HAVE YOUR FORCE OF CHANGELINGS. REJECT THIS OFF, AND YOU WILL PUNISH THE VILLAGERS.

Something darker, slicker, entered the voice. ACCEPT, AND YOU WILL DESTROY THEM UTTERLY. YOU WILL LIVE FOREVER IN FEAR AND DARKNESS, FREE OF YOUR CURSE.

SO. WHAT SAY YOU?

“This…this would change everything,” she said. “I’m not sure—“

YOU HAVE NO OTHER LIFE LEFT TO LIVE.

She froze.

It was true. Ironwood was dead, and Matron likely gone with him. The villagers would never take her in—especially not now. With the cottage ransacked and much of it destroyed, it was doubtful that she could make it through the winter alone. The images she’d seen in the eye returned to her: Would she leave to wander the world and die alone? Sacrifice her mind, and live in the forest as a beast? Set the walls alight and burn in agony until the end finally came?

She met the eye’s gaze and spoke again. She was proud when her voice came out strong and firm, without a trace of hesitation.

“Then I will accept.”

THEN IT IS DONE.

As the final syllable rang in her ears, a jolt of electricity lanced down her spine—and Briar fell to the floor screaming.

Her muscles were tearing, her bones grinding against one another as her body shifted beneath her. Her organs were on fire, burning in a pool of acid and flame. Her body lengthened, her neck and limbs stretching until they were easily twice as long as they’d been before.

She watched with horror as her black fur fell out from her coat, leaving only bubbling skin behind. A hard, chitinous shell erupted from her flesh, spreading across her torso and speeding hungrily toward her face and neck. She let out a cry of agony as pain lanced through her legs, the muscles tearing, bones shattering—holes, each the size of a hoof, had erupted from her legs and lower body, carving her limbs into a mockery of wholeness.

Blood streamed from her mouth. Her teeth fell to the ground, clattering to the floor as a pair of fangs poked out from behind her gums.

With a loud tearing of skin, two new limbs ripped from her back—wings, she realized through her haze of pain. Insect wings, like the ones that she’d seen in the book. They dripped with mucous, the light reflecting off of the black lines spiderwebbing over its surface.

She felt a burning—a scratching, burning pressure at the base of her skull. The force intensified until it felt as though a hammer had been driven into her forehead. Stars drifted across Briar’s eyes, foam falling from her mouth as she spasmed helplessly on the floor.

A roar tore from Briar’s throat. A jagged black horn erupted through her skull, bright green energies crackling around it like lightning. Her body gave a final spasm, and then it was over.

Sweat dripped from her body, mixing with the blood on the floor. She slowly pushed herself back up, stumbling as she attempted to stand with this new, unfamiliar form. Her legs were too long, her muscles alien and twisted. Her eyes, thankfully, seemed much the same, but the new weight on her head pressed on her neck.

Her eye caught on a shard of glass, her reflection glinting from its surface.

A misshapen monster stared back at her.

BEAUTIFUL.

Her head whipped around—but the eye had disappeared.

WE RESIDE WITHIN YOU NOW, OUR QUEEN, the Hive rumbled. AND YOUR SOUL IS AS BEAUTIFUL AS YOUR BODY.

Briar stared. Hesitantly, she raised a hoof. Her reflection did the same, the bookcase behind it clearly visible through the holes in its leg.

“Thank you,” she said. Her voice was deeper, richer. She watched in fascination as her reflection’s hair—a dimmer green, tinged with specks of grey and black—swung behind it. Her lips curled until two fangs grinned back at her from the depths of the glass. “It’s perfect.”

YOUR ARMY AWAITS, the Hive said.

Briar nodded. Slowly, gathering her will to bear on this new, alien body, she drew herself up and exited the room.

“I feel…different,” she murmured. “Something in the air—there’s some kind of pressure around my horn.”

Her horn. She had a horn.

YOU ARE FEELING THE MAGICAL ENERGIES SURROUNDING YOU. THEIR FIELDS EXTEND THROUGHOUT THIS WORLD.

“Would a normal unicorn feel this all of the time?” she whispered.

WE DO NOT KNOW. IT IS LIKELY, HOWEVER..

She stepped through the doorway, shielding her eyes from the bright moonlight. The clearing was empty. “You said that they would be here,” she said, her lips curling unpleasantly. “Where is the army I was promised?”

PATIENCE, OUR QUEEN.

“I’m tired of being patient,” she said. “I am your Queen, and I summon you. Now.”

The Hive’s reply seemed almost amused. WE COME.

The earth shook beneath her hooves. Briar reared back as the mud seemed to ripple—and then stared as she realized that the ground was moving—or rather, things were moving beneath it.

A clump of mud shifted in the center of the clearing. Cracks appeared across its surface, the outer shell splitting to reveal jet-black skin beneath. The shape drew itself up into the air and, with an ear-splitting screech, burst from the earth in a shower of earth and thick, yellow mucous.

The first changeling blinked up at her, its blue-green eyes reflecting a thousand stars from their depths.

Briar stared back—and then felt a smirk growing across her face. “Yes,” she hissed. “Come! Your Queen is impatient!”

The earth split open in five—ten—twenty more places. All around the cottage, the dirt rolled and boiled, with new dark forms bursting free with every passing second. Each was nearly the size of a pony—though, Briar reflected with satisfaction, due to her new height, none came above her knees. Each new changeling’s wings buzzed to life with an ear-splitting whine, adding to the cacophony of noise that was rapidly filling the clearing.

On and on they went, springing from the soil like weeds after a storm. Briar watched, eyes wide, as more and more changelings burst from the soil. They seemed to stretch into forever, their dark forms forming chains that stretched deep into the wood. Their voices were an overpowering chorus, their black skin shining with reflected starlight.

And they all were watching her. Waiting.

“What do they want?” she whispered.

The Hive spoke to her. WE AWAIT YOUR COMMAND.

Briar stared—and felt something bubbling up in her chest. Her command. Her orders.

She threw her head back and laughed.

“Fly!” she commanded. “And destroy the village!”

The sky was black with smoke.

Lingering peals of laughter shook Briar’s frame as she watched the destruction through each of her soldiers’ eyes. Evidently, she possessed a closer link to the Hive than just that mental link. She could see what they saw; hear what they heard. Yet she did not feel what they felt—for what was there for a changeling to feel?

She watched as one of her children faced an older stallion. He was obviously drunk, and had chosen to brandish an old fire poker at the intruder rather than the sword which sat merely paces away. The changeling hissed, its haunches tensing.

“Get away!” the stallion hollered, his face red—and with a start, Briar recognized him as Bit—the one whose drunken rage had begun this entire affair

“Kill him,” she hissed, and the changeling pounced. Bit’s eyes opened wide, the poker clattering to the floor—and the changeling tore through his throat. Blood and gore dripped to the ground as the corpse fell. Briar was shocked to find that she felt no disgust at the act: merely a dull, dark satisfaction.

A high-pitched shriek pierced the air and the changeling whirled, snarling. A mare cowered in a corner, her hooves held over her head. The changeling smirked, and Briar turned her attention away as its features began to change.

Her children would feast.

She paused, her wings buzzing behind her as they kept her aloft above the village. A few changelings, their wings longer and more powerful than the others, circled behind her, forming a guard for her protection. Children? Where had that come from?

YOU ARE OUR QUEEN. OUR MOTHER.

“I didn’t realize that the two came together,” Briar muttered.

The Hive seemed to laugh. THEN LOOK, MOTHER, AND BEHOLD WHAT YOUR CHILDREN HAVE WROUGHT.

Her lips tightening into a dark grin, Briar left her mind dive back into the Hive. Instantly, a new perspective took her, overlaying her own. She watched as another changeling set fire to the Town Hall, the flame it carried blistering its hooves and biting through the old wood. The streets around it were black, the air filled with the bright green pellets that were the changelings’ offensive magic. One burst into another house, exploding and leaving a deep black scorch mark. Flames licked around the point of impact, dancing along the roof as the screams from within rose in pitch.

Each injury or death rang in Briar’s head like the crash of a bell. Each piece of destruction—they were all for Ironwood, she reminded herself. It was his vengeance, his spirit—and she, a whirlwind of fury to strike back against his aggressors.

She dove back into the Hive, laughing all the way. She stopped when she found what she’d been looking for.

A party of stallions stood at the edge of the village, watching the burning remains. The changeling lurking behind them hissed; the stink of alcohol was strong upon them. Other changelings lurked nearby, awaiting Briar’s command.

Briar’s lip twisted. The stallion at the head was Yarrow, his eyes dull and unfocused.

Go, she sent. Her children emerged from the brush, snarling.

The stallions leapt back.

“What...what is this?” one sputtered.

“Monsters,” Yarrow whispered.

“Not monsters,” Briar said through the first changeling. “Avengers, for the death you’ve brought and the madness you’ve shared. For this, I condemn you.”

“It can speak!” a stallion said.

“We’ve done nothing,” Yarrow slurred. “And I’ve never seen you before! How could you do this to us!”

“Your village feared a curse, and so brought it upon itself.” Briar gave a mental push to the changeling she’d seized. She felt a certain thrill as the green flames washed up around its hooves, licking at its sides as its bones twisted and deformed. Its spine lengthened, new hair emerging from its sides.

Another Briar, looking as she had before her transformation, bared her teeth at Yarrow. “Do you recognize me now?”

He took in a sharp breath. “You.”

“Yes,” she said, her voice already feeling strange through her old self’s vocal chords. “Me.”

Her lips curled back. “You thought to kill me for making your child into a monster—but what you failed to realize was that you were the monsters all along.”

“But you—” Yarrow fell to his knees. “My daughter. You cursed her! I…”

‘I did nothing,” Briar hissed. “You leapt to your own foolish conclusions, choosing to hate what you didn’t understand.”

And now Ironwood was dead because of it.

“But the village,” Yarrow whispered. “How?”

“You stole the thing dearest to me,” Briar said, her voice dull. “Now I’ve taken the thing dearest to you.”

She withdrew from the changeling’s mind and let it relapse into its normal form. She sent a single, ringing word through to the group there.

Feed.

She dove back into the Hive. Memories, pictures, and sensations of every type flashed though her mind. Another changeling’s point of view flashed across her mind’s eye—and she froze.

She held onto it, drawing forth the information through the psychic link. The scene bloomed in her mind like a flower, with color and outlines spreading across her vision even as she felt the changeling’s mind move aside for her own. She felt the weight of its wings on its back, heard the crackling of flame behind it.

And saw the two ponies standing across the room.

“Get back!” Flaxseed hollered. “Don’t you dare take one step closer!”

The older mare’s face was smudged with ash and tears. She held baguette in her hoof, brandishing it like a weapon. A writhing mirth bubbled up in the Hive at the pitiful sight, but Briar could only feel horror and disgust.

“Why?” Brioche stood behind her, his normally gentle face contorted into an expression of rage and agony. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I choose to.”

Briar spoke through the changeling she’d possessed, seizing control of its vocal chords and clumsily putting them to use. Its mouth was different from her own, its voice more guttural, its tongue longer and more sharply forked, but she managed to get the words out regardless.

“Because this village committed a crime,” she said, her voice sounding hollow to her own ears. “This is retribution.”

“What retribution? You’re destroying the entire village!” Brioche burst out.

“I swear, if you’ve laid one hoof on my son—” Flaxseed began.

“Ironwood is dead.”

Flaxseed let out a strangled gasp.

“Not by my hoof,” Briar said. “Murdered by his own peers. It’s for his spirit that I come today.”

“You—you—”

“You monster,” Brioche spat. “Ironwood would never want such a thing.”

“You lie,” Flaxseed whispered, her face a pale white. “You’re a filthy liar.”

Briar closed her eyes. Ironwood’s face—kind, compassionate, and forgiving—flashed across her vision.

In the blink of an eye, her clawed hoof was at Flaxseed’s throat. She’d pinned the mare to the wall before Brioche could react. The changeling in her hissed—it wanted to claw, to bite, to feed—

“Don’t you ever call me a liar,” Briar whispered.

As Brioche’s mighty hoof came crashing down behind her, Briar’s changeling form blurred. She re-appeared by the door, having moved so quickly as to seem as though she’d teleported.

Flaxseed collapsed with a thump. She curled up on the floor, weeping as Briar turned to the door.

“This village is dead,” Briar said quietly. “Your son is lost to you.”

Flaxseed let out a wail, and Briar flinched before continuing.

“You would do well to leave it behind, and never return.”

She withdrew her mind from the changeling she’d possessed. She felt it drop to the ground, exhausted from the exertion of bearing the Queen’s will for so long—and swayed in the air as her the whiplash from her body rocked her consciousness.

The village was half-destroyed by now, its houses and buildings covered in smoke and fire. Ponies lined the streets: some running and screaming, and others limp upon the ground, their bodies unmoving.

Briar squeezed her eyes shut, and commanded the Hive to retreat. Its reply came instantly

OUR QUEEN—

“I have given you an order,” she said. “Are you going to disobey?”

WE COME.

The skies turned black with changeling flesh as the streets emptied below them. Buzzing filled the air, each changeling grunt taking to the air at the same instant as its brethren. Briar winced, an uncomfortable pressure forming behind her forehead—and dismissed it with a grunt.

Her wings spread wide, pushing her through the air until she lay at the head of the swarm. Not once did she look back at the village’s burning remains.

When next her hooves touched ground, it was once more upon the forest floor, the grass rustling underhoof.

Briar pushed her mane out of her eyes—and found herself taken by the holes in the hoof that she’d raised. Was she really so empty?

She looked about the clearing around her. The wreckage of Matron’s cottage sat behind her, while the forest before her was full of changelings. Not a single one buzzed or chittered; all sat silently, staring at her.

Then,

WE DID NOT EXPECT YOUR WITHDRAWAL.

“I gave the order,” she said. “That’s all that matters.”

WE THOUGHT YOU WANTED REVENGE.

“The village is gone,” Briar said, a scowl crossing her face. “Burned to a crisp. There’d be no point in going on.”

THE SURVIVORS—

“Will not last long. You’ve had your fill. Any more would be gluttony.”

The Hive was quiet for a moment. Then,

AS YOU WISH, OUR QUEEN.

“That’s right,” she said. “Your Queen. Don’t you dare question me again.”

The Hive fell silent.

Briar turned back to the cottage. There was one final thing she had to do.

She gave a mental command to a team of changelings to begin digging the hole. Another, she sent to find a suitable tablet of bark.

Ironwood’s grave wouldn’t be anything fancy, but she wouldn’t let him go without a proper burial.

“It’s what his parents would have wanted,” she whispered. She gave a silent thanks when the Hive made no comment.

There his body lay—slumped against the side of the house. Most of the blood had dried by now into a brown-red stain across his fur. Briar approached, her hoof-falls like thunder in her ears.

He looked so small now. So weak—like an infant. She stood over him, her new height forcing her to crane her neck to look down at his huddled body.

Slowly, she bent down and pressed a hoof to his chest.

It was still warm.

Briar’s eyes widened, and she quickly brought her other hoof up as well. Was that—no, it couldn’t be—yet, clear as day, there was a pulse behind those ribs. If she squinted, she could just barely make out the rise and fall of his chest.

Ironwood was still alive.

Briar’s hoof went to her mouth as her eyes filled with tears. Ironwood was alive, he was here, he was—

It was for nothing

Tears came to her eyes. She’d destroyed the village to avenge him—but he’d been alive all along?

Oh, gods. What had she done?

THEY WOULD HAVE KILLED REGARDLESS, the Hive rumbled in the back of her mind. SPARING HIM WAS NOT THEIR INTENTION.

Briar drew back, her hoof going to her mouth. That was right—it had to be. She’d done what was right, hadn’t she?

Ironwood was alive. That was all that mattered.

A low groan came from Ironwood’s open mouth. He stirred at her touch. Slowly, his eyelids cracked open.

“B-briar? Is that you?”

“It’s me,” she whispered, leaning in to press her cheek against his. “Oh, thank the gods.”

“I had a dream,” he said in a small voice. “That I died. Crazy, huh?”

“Crazy,” she said. Tears fell from her eyes, dripping over her helpless smile.

Ironwood squinted up at her as she pulled away. “You look...different.”

“I feel different,” she said. “But you’re okay, you little moron, and that’s all that matters.”

Ironwood chuckled weakly. “Same old Briar,” he said.

He looked up at herg. “Briar, there’s—there’s something I want to say to you.”

“I already know,” she said. Something dark squirmed in her chest, but she ignored it—Ironwood was alive, and that was all that mattered.

“I don’t know if I can say it,” he whispered. “I want you to look into my eyes and see it for yourself.”

“I—”

She couldn’t deny him. Not now. Not like this.

Hooves trembling, she took his head in her grasp and met his gaze.

The blood disappeared. So did the grass, and the sky, and the moon. Soon, Briar was all that was left, cradling Ironwood’s head in her hooves.

And then he, too, disappeared—and the sky flashed blue.

Briar shielded her eyes. The buzz of the Hive was gone, leaving her feeling empty and cold. Yet as she looked up, that cold disappeared.

Another Briar, her coat and hooves still those of a pony, stood, atop a great mountain. Ironwood stood at her side, gazing out into the sunset. Their hooves were held tight, clasped together.

Clouds reached across the sky and across the horizon. The golden sunlight danced over each part of the land it touched: glimmering oceans, impossible deserts, and lush forests the likes of which Briar had never dreamed.

And there they stood: there at the top of the world. Together.

The other Briar turned to look into Ironwood’s eyes, and he smiled back. No words were said, but Briar understood them all the same.

I love you, those eyes said, shining from atop the mountain. I love you.

The mountain vanished, and the forest returned.

“And I love you,” she whispered—and then her lips were pressed against his.

He recoiled at first—but then pushed back into her, his hooves clutching around her head. He tasted sweet, like sugar, and she eagerly pressed her mouth even further against his.

The thing in her chest squirmed again, and in the back of her mind, Briar saw something bright glowing in Ironwood’s chest. It felt warm, and she felt so cold—

She reached in, probing, and touched it gently.

It blazed to life, pushing her further into lust and love for Ironwood. Their tongues met, dueling for superiority as the pair rocked back and forth—

—Briar’s mind tugged on the light, pulling it toward her mouth. She inhaled, suddenly feeling warm. The light tasted so good, flooding her body with energy with each flicker that it gave. Her hooves were trembling, her spine tingling with electricity.

She sucked down greedily. The light flickered, its ends splitting into tendrils that snaked their way down Briar’s throat, each one warmer than the last. Briar’s eyes rolled back up in her head. She felt good, she felt full—

Ironwood’s body dropped to the forest floor.

Briar screamed.

His dead, vacant eyes stared up at her as she racked her mind for the cause. Oh gods, she realized—she’d been feeding on him. Feeding—

LIKE A CHANGELING.

“What have you done to me?” she whispered.

She should have felt disgusted. She should have been horrified. She should have hated herself—but she felt nothing more than a dull ache and a sense of fullness that hadn’t been there before.

YOU ARE ONE OF US. THE HIVE EVER HUNGERS.

“You’ve killed him.”

YOU FED UPON HIM.

“He loved me.”

AND FED YOU WELL.

“I—”

She swallowed.

“I wanted it,” she said. “I needed it—and I don’t regret it. What is wrong with me?”

SUCH IS THE NATURE OF THE HIVE, the voices rumbled. WE ARE EMPTY, AND SO WE TAKE UNTIL WE ARE FULL.

DO NOT FEAR. THERE WILL BE MORE LOVE, BRIAR.

“No.”

The Hive’s awareness turned to a searching confusion.

“Not Briar,” she said, eyes dark. That thing inside of her was squirming—and with one mental lash, she took it and made it her own.

Goodnight, my sweet chrysalis.

“That mare is dead,” she spat. “That day has passed. From this day forth, I take a new name.”

Like the day, she had been reborn into night. Like a caterpillar, she had been remade—refashioned into the shell of a changeling.

“I am Chrysalis,” she whispered. “Queen Chrysalis.”

HAIL, the Hive rumbled. HAIL, QUEEN CHRYSALIS.

Chrysalis turned her eye to the blackened, smoke-filled sky. “We’ll need to find somewhere else to go—the Badlands, perhaps. Perhaps we’ll explore other, strange lands.”

WHY?

Her mouth twitched.

“To find new sources of love, of course.”

YOU HAVE GIVEN YOURSELF FULLY OVER TO THE HIVE?

She looked up at the blackened sun. “Long live the Hive,” she said.

“And may Queen Chrysalis’s reign last forevermore.”