Foxfire's Tail (Re-Written)

Foxfire woke up groaning, the feeling of touching that silky substance no longer applying to her underside, but her whole body instead. Torches lit in green fire dotted the room, and she found a pillow of green greeting her as she opened her eyes. She was...in some kind of bed.

She moved one foreleg a bit, and it didn’t hurt like it did the last time she did this. She looked around, only to find nothing else of interest in the room. It was just her, the torches, and the bed she lay on.

The mare rose onto holey hooves, standing on the bed as if weakness never harmed her. Her eyes itched very much, but she resisted the urge to scratch them with her hooves, using the pillow instead to relieve her face of the unwanted sensation.

After the itch went away, Foxfire got off the bed. She took another glance. Nothing changed, as far as she knew...except for the fact she wasn’t where she woke up last time.

“Anyone here?” She called out at last, half hoping to not get an answer. The last time that happened, she got punched in the gut--something she’d rather avoid.

For a few moments, silence reigned. Even the emerald flames were deathly quiet--something she couldn’t help but arch a brow at. Fire crackled, last time she checked.

Fire.

A pang of pain made itself known, and Foxfire winced. That accursed image played out in her mind once more. It was one she began to hate, tears welling in her eyes as her mother--a changeling, not a pony like she had believed--said her final words.

“What...what did you do to those ponies...to die like that?” Foxfire wondered aloud, eyes narrowing at nothing in particular. She sat on her rump, shaking again. That scenario, and the ones that followed up until now, surely had to have been a dream.

Or, rather, she wished it was. But the words of the taller changeling rang in her mind.

“He couldn’t go back to being an earth pony.”

“Hello, little one.” Said a feminine voice. Foxfire immediately looked towards the ill-lit exit of the room and found the taller changeling staring at her.

“Go away.” Foxfire hissed, tears streaking down her face as she spoke. “I don’t want to talk to you.”

“That’s no way to address your grandmother.” The other changeling cut back accusingly, narrowing her eyes as she approached the mare. “Besides, I thought I’d have a family reunion with you.”

Foxfire backed away after rising to her hooves. She was in no mood to speak to this other freak that approached her. “No.” She hissed.

The other changeling sighed and rolled her eyes, shaking her head afterwards. It was then Foxfire noticed that, in her magic, she carried four round orbs of crimson hue, very much the same color as her own carapace.

“Look, it’s your unhatched batch of children. Why don’t you say hello to them?” The other changeling cooed, a complacent look replacing that of irritation. She gently levitated the orbs to Foxfire, who only raised a hoof and tried swatting them away with it.

“I don’t want to raise the little bastards!” Foxfire hissed, sitting on her rump so she could swat at the orbs with both front hooves. A scowl was on her face, revealing her fangs. “I want nothing to do with them!”

The other changeling’s eyes widened at the display. She then arched a brow, yanking the orbs away before Foxy could do any major damage. “How...how old are you, exactly?” She asked.

Foxfire froze on the spot, eyes widening and pupils shrunk to meager slits. “Only...eleven?” She murmured, and then her heart skipped a beat.

“That...explains a lot.” The other changeling sighed.

Foxfire shuddered, pupils still tiny slits, as she remembered her session with Rainstorm, and what she promised not to do. Slowly, her hoof connected with her face. “How the flying fuck did I even get this body and age in fifteen seconds?! HOW?!” She cried, eyes shut in annoyance.

“Oh dear...a princess raised in ignorance of her own lineage…” The other changeling mumbled, shaking her head at the display. “All I wanted was a family reunion, and I get this…” She added, approaching Foxfire until the seated mare was right in front of her.

Foxfire turned away, scowl returning to her face as she did. She crossed her forelegs--the mare was quite pouty today.

The taller changeling sighed in disappointment. “If you promise to calm down, I shall give you any answer you need.” She said.

Foxfire sighed, calming her nerves and wiping her tears away before they could fall from her eyes. Like she had a choice now. “Why did I...you know, age in fifteen seconds?” She asked.

“Changeling biology’s a bit hard to explain, but the overall gist of it is workers and soldiers mature around three years, and a princess five years. Since you’re a hybrid of sorts, it took longer for you to fully mature.” The taller changeling answered. “And once they mature, they can start having kids all they want, which come in the form of eggs for a princess, or live birth if they're disguised or lesser than royalty.”

“Makes sense when I think about it, actually.” Foxfire murmured, looking at her holey legs. “I’ve had bouts of weakness, and I basically can only walk and use my tail, for the most part, during those bouts. I’ve also acquired a taste of blood. The hell explains that?”

“Changelings feast on the substance because it carries strong emotions within its streams. Love, hate, sadness, panic...just about any you can think of, actually. Love and happiness are the most sought after.” The other changeling answered.

“Rainstorm was a pegasus before I, y’know, wrecked shit up, if you’ll pardon the language.” Foxfire sighed, looking at the ceiling briefly.

“Changelings take on the forms of ponies to gather love and other emotions, which are then brought back to the hive and placed in special storage chambers. It’s where the fangs really come in handy.” The other answered with a nod. “Sometimes, they get creative and make their own pony forms, either from looking at a few subjects at a time or, in your case, because they’re hybrids.”

“What explains the holes?” Foxfire asked, sighing as she looked over her holey forelegs again.

“The more holes a changeling has that are naturally-occurring, the more love they can carry. You, however, have so few holes you’d practically need a scout to feed you with the stuff every two hours. Love, and other such strong emotions, act as a power source that enables flight and magic.” The taller one answered.

Foxfire’s eyes widened. That explained her bouts of weakness. “How the hay can I control fire, even though my cutie mark bears no such resemblance to fire?” She asked, looking back at the taller changeling. “And I never got your name.”

“In order, changelings are naturally inherent with fire, and they even use it to transform, and I am Queen Violet.” The other answered.

“I think I need a nap.” Foxfire murmured, looking at the impromptu bed. Her eyes took on a sleepy look, the lids drooping somewhat as a yawn escaped her fanged mouth. Exhaustion washed over her, and she'd only just woken up moments ago. Had she still been tired, perhaps?

“You were out for three months. I’m surprised you managed to wake up.” Violet replied, sighing afterwards.

“Wait, what?” Foxfire asked, brow arched as she turned to Violet.

“You were in critical condition. Low on overall energy, love...and let’s not forget the fact you laid eggs literally bigger than my head.” Violet answered quickly. “And screaming your lungs out, if I recall correctly. You’re still gonna have to stay put for a while.” She added.

Foxfire covered her mouth with a holey leg as she yawned again. “Gonna...go back to bed….” She murmured, sauntering her way to the bed and then clambering on top of it. She laid down, and was soon fast asleep.