Spirited Away
The window soundlessly slid open, and at once the cold night air began seeping into the apartment. The noise of the sleepless city far below could not be heard at this height. Instead, the silence of the room was broken by a leathery rustling as a pair of ragged hooves grabbed onto the window ledge. There was no moonlight to expose the ghastly worm-eaten holes that tunneled through the forelegs. They belonged to a shadow; a shadow that was suddenly joined by more. Their inky, equine shapes filled and darkened the window. Then, with only the faintest scrape of porous hooves against brick, the shadow at the ledge crawled inside. Another followed, and then another, until the window was clear again.
The first shadow’s head slowly pivoted on its neck as it scanned the room. It saw many things that pleased it. Bundles of fabric lined spotless shelves, along with thread, needles, spindles, and all manner of tailor essentials. It flashed a hideous fanged grin as it spotted the silhouette of a sewing machine the corner. The shadow raised a hoof and motioned the others to what it saw. Quick as a flash they rushed past, removed the sewing machine and its table from the corner and tossed it out the window. In another few moments they emptied the shelves of their contents. Every last needle and spool was taken and followed the sewing machine out the window.
When they had finished, the leader turned its attention to the bedroom. The others crept behind as the shadow carefully trod over the floorboards to the door. A sickly green glow began emanating from the shadow’s horn, illuminating a gray, chitinous face. The glow extended to the doorknob, traveled along the edge of the door, and slithered into the keyhole. The tumblers inside clicked compliantly into place.
Three pairs of eyes stared eagerly ahead as the door slowly swung forward. A small bed stood before them; its blankets rising and falling as the pony beneath them breathed. The shadows quietly snuck into the room, each one taking a side of the bed. The leader stood at the foot, and motioned to the shadow to his left. It immediately took hold of the corner and began removing the blanket. But it pulled too swiftly and too hard, and the bed’s occupant came crashing to the floor.
* * *
Coco Pommel’s eyes snapped open as she landed on the floor, her fall broken by the soft white squares of her comforter.
“Crasher! Ye great, stupid git!” screeched a shrill, nasally voice, “Ye’ve gone and ruined everything!”
“I’m sorry!” replied another, somewhat deeper voice, “I dinna kin—”
“Ye dinna kin anything!” snapped the first voice, “I’d bash yer brains in if ye had any!”
Coco froze as she heard the voices. There were ponies was in her room. She immediately sat up and struggled to tear herself free of the blanket to see who they were and what they were doing. She cried out as she felt the comforter tighten for a moment. The earth pony was spun around as it was pulled away; leaving her sprawled out, face down on the floor. A harsh green light filled the room, casting three malformed shadows against the walls. The blood rushed from her face as Coco glanced up into a sneering snout filled with sharp, jagged teeth. She saw her distorted reflection in a pair of narrowed, icy blue eyes.
“Blast it all, she’s awake!” snarled the mouth. Coco cringed as she felt droplets of saliva fly into her face. She scrambled away from whatever had invaded her apartment, trying and failing to get to her hooves. All the while she looked from creature to creature, her frightened mind trying to deduce what they were. They were shaped like ponies, but had a shriveled, almost corpse-like complexion. Bits of plated shell could be seen through their dark, greasy coats.
It was when she saw their tattered, transparent wings that Coco knew what they were. The pony paused in her mad effort to stand up, and she sat on her haunches gaping at the intruders. Her jaw dropped open in a silent scream.
“Would ye care tae tell us whit tae do next?” said one of the changelings, its oily voice sending a chill up Coco’s spine. The smallest of the three thrust a foreleg at the dressmaker.
“Whit we came here to do,” he barked, “Grab the lass and her wares and toddle aff home.”
Coco had been frightened before. Now, as the two larger changelings moved toward her, she was absolutely terrified. She found her legs again and leapt up to run, but by then they were already upon her. A muscular, blunt-muzzled one took hold of her right foreleg, while a tall, skeletal one took hold of her left. She shuddered as their touch. Their hooves were withered and ragged, and felt like ice against her soft skin. Before the mare knew what was happening, she was being dragged across the floor out into the living room.
“Wha-” Another hoof threw itself over her mouth as she offered protest. Strange and unfamiliar smells overwhelmed her nostrils, all of them stagnant and putrid. Coco tried pulling her face away, but the horrible hoof remained tightly in place. She soon saw the reason for this, and when she did, she screamed into the changeling’s foreleg.
They were hauling her to the open window.
The mare began to kick and pull at her captors as their wings began to beat. Her blows grew more frantic as she felt her hooves leave the floor.
Coco closed her eyes as she felt herself pushed out into the night. The changeling’s hooves drew away, and she went tumbling head over hooves. She dropped like a stone for two stories before she finally came to a gut-wrenching stop. The air rushed from her lungs, and her chest wheezed in and out as she tried to recover. While she ached terribly, there was some small part of her that was glad. Pain meant she was alive, and that she hadn’t fallen all the way to the street below.
The dressmaker dared to open her eyes. She immediately wished she hadn’t.
Coco was hovering at least ten stories above the streets of Manehatten, somehow suspended in the air. Her body bobbed up and down, and tilted uncontrollably in every direction. It was an odd and unnerving situation, made all the worse by the cacophony of ragged wings roaring in her ears. Her ever-changing field of vision spotted the outlines of dozens of twisted, sneering changelings. Coco’s eyes widened as she spotted nearly all of her belongings hovering about in between them, each one floating as weightlessly as she was.
The mare shuddered as she saw three more of the insect-like creatures drop down from her window and take positions at the front of the small swarm. The smallest one took the lead, flanked by his two subordinates.
“Alright ye lot o’ loafers!” he cried, “We’re aff!”
No sooner had he spoken when they began shooting forward, Coco among them. The mare screamed as she was dragged by some mysterious force, her senses becoming blurred together as her captors rose to a ludicrous speed. Icy winds whipped through her mane and skimmed over her skin, chilling her to the bone. The beating of wings had been replaced with a shrieking gale. As she aimlessly tumbled along in the midst of the changelings, she stole brief glances at the ground and the vast collection of buildings that surrounded her. Every other second her captors would turn down a street; rattling and jarring the poor mare’s bones. And all the while, they seemed to be picking up speed.
Coco’s heart fluttered wildly as she heard an earsplitting chime. The metallic clang reverberated throughout ever inch of her body, as if she had been struck by something physical. The luminous face of an enormous clock tower briefly passed before her eyes. Each following ring grew fainter as Coco was carried farther and farther away, until it was replaced with the unyielding howling of the night air rushing past her ears. Tears formed at the edges of her eyes, partially because of the stinging wind, and partially out of the fear and dread that was overtaking her. Her terror grew worse as the swarm began to ascend higher and higher, reaching far above the spires of the tallest buildings. Far below, steel and concrete gave way to cobblestone and clapboard as they took leave of the city’s heart.
As she was tossed and turned in midair, Coco somehow managed to gather enough her jumbled thoughts to wonder why the changelings had taken her. She barely knew anything about them, much less why they’d want to abduct her. Her only clue was the sewing paraphernalia that floated along side her. It occurred to her that perhaps they were in want of a seamstress, but couldn’t she fathom why they would want one.
Coco happened to look down, and her heart nearly stopped altogether. At some point during the few seconds she had been thinking to herself, they’d left Manehatten entirely. Below her now stretched an enormous quilt of fields and farmyards; each uneven square separated by barriers of sparse trees and half-collapsed fences. The mare stretched and strained to look back from whence they’d come. The coastline was no longer visible. All she could see was fields and forests, and even now the fields were starting to vanish from sight. Trees were going thicker and taller beneath the dressmaker, as if reaching for her with their scraggily, bony branches.
* * *
A sliver of wavering green light pierced the darkness of the cell as the heavy iron door creaked open. Something stirred in the shadows of the corner. Rusted chains rattled and clanked as the thing in the corner stirred from its slumber. It looked with dim eyes at the tall, slender silhouette that filled the doorway. The newcomer strode with a confident, almost arrogant air as it made its way into the chamber on its worm-eaten hooves. The thing in the corner hissed as its captor grew closer. Atrophied muscles tensed over its brittle bones. The sight of this drew a sadistic smile from the towering shadow.
“…Are we enjoying our stay?” Her voice was dissonant and strange. It was not the voice of a pony, but at the same time more alluring than the most beautiful mare. But it was not so alluring as to draw a reply from the prisoner. The only response was a dull glare from glazed eyes. Behind the cloudy, almost sightless orbs was something dangerous. Its body may have decayed and become useless, but its mind was every bit as cunning and sharp as it had been in its prime.
“I heard you’ve been being…difficult, with the guards,” sighed the captor. She brushed a stray strand of her mane from her face. “That’s really a shame. Especially after how generous I was to you.”
The prisoner growled, flashing the loose, grayed stumps it had for teeth. It snarled something in a hollow voice, but the words were foreign and unknown to the captor’s ears. But the tone carried enough venom to give her some idea of what it meant.
“Please, spare me the insults,” she snorted, “We both know I haven’t a thing to fear from you.” She leaned in close to the thing’s wizened face, a smug, dangerous grin stretched across her muzzle. “But you, on the other hoof…Well; you have everything to fear from me.” Once again, the prisoner barked angry words, rattling its chains and swinging its bony limbs at her. It howled in fury as its emaciated form was suddenly held aloft in an emerald aura, unable to react as it was thrown into the cold, unyielding stone wall. Its bones cracked as it fell into a crumpled heap, where it laid unmoving as the captor broke into hysterical laughter.
“What did I just tell you?” she cried devilishly, “Don’t try to be brave, my dear little jeweler. You’ll only succeed in hurting yourself.” The prisoner did not move. It didn’t even appear to be breathing. But the captor knew otherwise. She could do far worse to it, and even in its wretched state it wouldn’t die. She smiled as she looked over her handiwork before turning for the door.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some business to attend to. I sincerely hope you’ll be more cooperative in the future.” She slipped through the door and slammed it shut, taking the green light with her. The prisoner was left in the black void it had grown accustomed to.
Its eyes opened. They blazed with an intense loathing that went unseen in the darkness.
* * *
Coco wasn’t sure how long they’d been traveling when she first caught glance of the crooked shadow ahead. It loomed in the distance like some enormous, lifeless dragon, splayed out among the forest floor. Half-toppled towers and crumbling ramparts peeked out from the treetops; their weathered stonework as dark and gray as a storm cloud. It was a gothic castle from some bygone age, abused and made miserable by time. Coco stared in abject horror at the monstrous relic as they drew near. It was surrounded by brambles; the thorns long and exposed as if they meant to guard the fortress. Cobwebs of frail, dead vines clung to the walls, wrapping their spidery tendrils around decayed gargoyles and rusted spires. The castle was dead, and would never live again.
But life was still there. Eerie shafts of light poured out of the cracked and shattered windows. Coco saw flickering shadows move back and forth in the opaque glass; scuttling and flittering and crawling like maggots in the castle’s forsaken corpse. The mare cried out as her captors suddenly descended towards a waiting hole in the caving roof. Each one of the changelings landed upon the flaking tiles and swiftly scurried inside, looking like a horde of wasps returning to their hive. Coco was still caught in whatever magic kept her suspended in flight, and was drawn behind the last creature as it flittered down into the ruins.
Coco gaped in stunned silence as she tumbled headfirst into a world unlike anything she’d seen before. A cavernous room as ruinous as the outside walls welcomed her mortified eyes. At one time, it would have been the pinnacle of medieval architecture. Arches and supports, once held aloft in beautiful geometric patterns, had fallen and sagged into crooked ugliness. Chandeliers crafted from iron and plated with silver still burned bright overhead, but their mirror-like brilliance had long ago tarnished, reducing the overall lighting to a fraction of what it once was. Windows that had surely held detailed stained glass were now shattered, so that only a few sharp fragments remained lodged in the lead lining. Tapestries once vibrant with color now hung limp and grayed on the walls; their foul smell of decay intermingling with the stench of mildewed mortar. There were other smells as well, of food both cooking and rotting, and other things Coco could not identify.
The floor was swarming with thousands of changelings, all cackling and conversing with one another. They congregated at makeshift tables made from warped boards stood up on old sawhorses. Coco raised a brow as she spotted several intact picnic tables that looked to have come from somepony’s patio. Not only that, but there were various other things she could see were clearly of modern origin. Barrels and bottles with familiar labels lay strewn about in the corners, and one wall was lined with broken carts and carriages. Coco’s stomach tied itself in a knot as she stared at the wagons. They sat crooked on wheels with broken spokes and shattered axels. But it was not their state of being that she was concerned with. Rather, it was the question of what had happened to their occupants and coach-ponies.
The mare’s thoughts turned to her own safety as she suddenly fell onto the cold, moist stone that made up the floor. Coco ignored the dull pain now coursing through her side and scrambled up on her haunches. The room around her grew unnervingly quiet, and she could feel thousands of eyes trained on her as every head in the room turned in her direction. The pony’s mouth dropped open as she looked ahead.
She was sitting before an enormous throne, elevated above her on a series of stone slabs stacked on top of one another. It was plated with silver and gold, with intricate swirls and patterns hammered around the glittering gemstones inlaid on its surface. Somehow, this single work of art had escaped the decomposition that had overtaken the rest of the castle. But Coco was repulsed all the same when she saw it, for when looking upon it she saw the being who sat in it.
A tall, horribly gaunt figure lazily reclined in the purple velvet cushions. She sat in complete stillness, like a spider awaiting prey to come crawling into its web. Her coat was as dark and dismal as the shadow she cast. Withered, translucent wings glinted in the dim light like cloudy glass. A long, gnarled horn stood out from her greasy teal mane, keeping the hair from completely obscuring her emerald eyes. The eyes were full of greed and cunning. And they were trained on Coco Pommel.
“Ah, excellent,” the figure snickered, exposing two snake-like fangs in a poisonous smile, “Just the mare I was looking for.” Coco shrank back in fear from the hungry-eyed changeling. She knew who this was. Though little was known about the changelings themselves, the name of their queen was renowned far and wide, and struck terror into the hearts of ponies everywhere. The creature in question stared at the cringing pony for a moment before letting out a sinister chuckle.
“Oh, come now, quit your cowering. You’ve nothing to fear from us.” Her sharp-toothed grin told the dressmaker otherwise.
“…I don’t?” The mare’s words were barely a whisper, yet the queen somehow heard them. And when she did, her smile grew wider.
“Of course not,” said Queen Chrysalis, “We need you alive.” She paused for a moment and put a thoughtful hoof to her chin.
“Actually, that doesn’t quite mean you have nothing to fear. We can still do you harm; you just needn’t worry about us killing you.” She tossed back her head and laughed as if she had told a profoundly hilarious joke, and was joined in by the shrill cackles of her subjects. Coco sat dumbfounded in the middle of the cacophony, her melancholy face glancing from the changelings to their odious queen. When at last their horrid laughter died away, the queen turned her attention to the seamstress.
“I’m only joking, you understand,” she smirked, “We could easily kill you and find someone else to do the job.”
“I...I understand,” gulped the palled mare. She didn’t. Coco had no idea what the changelings wanted, but was afraid for her own life. But she was certain they’d tell her sooner or later.
“Good,” said the queen as she rubbed her forelegs together, “Now then, just to make sure, you are a dressmaker, correct?” Coco’s head moved stiffly up and down on her neck.
“Y-yes,” she stammered, “I am.” The queen’s ragged teeth beamed in a smile of wicked delight.
“And I assume that you can also create clothes for stallions as well?”
“Well…Yes, I can,” replied the mare, “I can make clothes for either or if that’s what you’re asking. I-It’s good to keep a wider spectrum of customers, you know?” Coco gave a small, nervous smile up at the changeling ruler.
“Perfect,” said Chrysalis, sounding as enthused as a child. She looked at something to her right. “Didn’t I tell you she’d be perfect for the job, Earwig?”
“That you did, Your Majesty.”
Coco’s ears pricked up as she heard a monotonous mutter issue out from the pile of refuse to the right of the throne. It was only now that she realized there was a changeling sitting atop a warped crate among the garbage. The mare tried to hide her oncoming grimace of disgust. This particular individual appeared to be of great age, if his wizened, leathery face was anything to go by. Likewise, his body was overgrown with crusty plates, looking almost like a suit of rusted armor. Two long, withered antennae grew from his forehead, projecting at odd angles like the branches of some stunted tree. He gazed at Coco with dull, clouded eyes and a blank expression.
“Greetings, Ms. Pommel,” he sighed halfheartedly, “Welcome to the home of the horde.”
“Temporary home,” huffed Chrysalis as she waved a dismissive hoof at the elder changeling, “Don’t interrupt when I’m interrogating the prisoners, Earwig.” The ancient creature bowed his head and said no more. “Anyway,” continued Chrysalis as she turned her attention back to Coco, “Now that I’m certain you’re fit for the task, I shall explain it to you.”
Coco took a step back as the queen hurled a moldering cardboard box at her hooves. The grimacing dressmaker glanced down at the battered receptacle to find it stuffed full of brightly-colored papers. She lightly paged through them with a shaking hoof, her eyes widening in confusion. The mare was staring at images of models dressed in splendid gowns standing alongside stallions in stylish suits. They’d been ripped from fashion magazines, some surprisingly recent, others dating back to a few years before Coco had been born. She looked up at Chrysalis with a questioning frown.
“You see, Ms. Pommel,” began the queen, “I’ve been waiting for a very long time for the Crystal Empire to return, and now that it finally has, I intend to make it mine.”
Coco’s blood turned to ice in her veins as the queen stood up from her throne. The earth pony fixed her mortified eyes upon the changeling’s twisted, bramble-like horn as it was enshrouded in lurid green fire. In another moment Coco found herself yanked up off her hooves again. She shrieked as she flew forwards, stopping only when the space of a few inches stood between her and the queen’s oily complexion.
“I made the mistake in my last campaign to only hide myself in Canterlot,” she rasped, “A single changeling is harder to detect than an army. It would have worked had it not been for that miserable bookworm.” Chrysalis’s face simmered with spiteful fury, and the aura enveloping Coco left a nauseatingly bitter taste in her mouth. “But this time, I’ve come up with something so devious and despicable that not even The Princess of ‘Friendship’ herself can see through it.”
Coco swallowed the growing lump of fear in her throat as the changeling pulled her even closer. She couldn’t help but contort her face in revulsion as she unwillingly sampled the queen’s breath. It had the same acrid, pungent smell of Deadly Nightshade.
“We have everything we need to begin,” Chrysalis rasped, “Except for one thing. And that, my dear, is why we need you. My plans fall on the night of the Crystal Ball, and we need someone with your talents to provide the appropriate garb for the occasion.”
The dressmaker cringed at the cat-like look that came to the queen’s eyes.
“And I sincerely hope you perform better than the first pony we brought in for this task. You’re already doing better than her. All she did was scream.”
The edges of Coco’s mouth twitched, as if she were about to scream herself.
“Well,” said Chrysalis as she clapped her hooves together, “I suppose we shouldn’t waste any more time.” Coco followed the queen’s gaze as she eyed three changelings standing before the throne.
“Crawler, would you and your brothers please escort our guest to her quarters?”
The short changeling that stood in the middle gave a curt nod.
“Aye, yer Majesty,” he barked with a salute. He and his two brothers advanced toward Coco. The mare yelped as she was let out of the queen’s grasp, dropping to the floor. In another moment the three changelings roughly set her up right, with Crawler in the lead, and the two others flanking her.
“Aright lass, come on noo,” said the largest one, offering a gentle push to her shoulder. Coco cringed as his hoof brushed against a rapidly forming bruise. It was more than enough prompt needed to get her moving forward. Ahead of her the sea of changelings parted, forming a straight path to the massive oak doors that hung crooked. Their decrepit hinges shrieked out in a rusty chorus as they opened, revealing a black maw beyond.
"Be sure to see to it that she’s comfortable,” the queen called out as they began their exit, “She’ll be staying with us for quite some time.”
Coco kept close to the center of the long, spiraling staircase as she and her captors journeyed downward into the shadowy depths of the castle. It seemed an eternity had passed since they’d begun the descent. The cold, damp air made the mare shiver. A musty, decayed smell wafted out from the cracks in the stonework, reeking of stale earth and wet mortar. The smells and shadows continued to grow worse the deeper they went. Coco couldn’t bring herself to imagine what the very bottom of the castle was like.
“I’m sorry that it must come tae this. It’s a blasted shame tae have tae lock ye up...”
Coco’s ears shot up like in less than a second, and her hoof almost missed a step. No one had said a word since they’d left the great hall, and the sound of the oily voice took her off guard. The mare glanced over her shoulder at the tall, hungry-looking changeling to her left. He peered back at her and sighed wistfully. “I mean, a bonny craitur such as yerself will no fit in with the others.”
Coco felt a chill run up her spine. And it wasn’t from the cold.
“…Others?” breathed the mare.
“Aye, others,” the changeling said with a nod, “Yer a right pretty mare, and I’d be fashed tae see anythin’ happen tae ye and ruin yer good looks.” Coco grimaced as he moved closer to her. The dressmaker found something incredibly off-putting in the way he leered at her.
“What others?” she murmured, “Who else is down there?” The tall changeling’s stare broke away for a moment as he glanced upwards in thought.
“Weel,” he rasped, “I dinnae want to frighten ye, but if ye really want tae know—“
“Creeper!” barked the lead changeling, glaring at him from over his shoulder, “Yer no allowed tae spake tae the seamstress.” Creeper’s narrow face formed a contemptuous sneer.
“Why no?” he muttered, “She wants tae know somethin’ aboot where we’re headed.”
“She’ll find oot on her own,” growled Crawler, “We’re nearly there noo.” Creeper gave a sullen sigh before turning back to Coco. The mare bit her lip as he gave a smile full of gray and yellow teeth.
“Dinna give him any mind,” whispered the changeling, “He’s naught but a muckle-mou’d git.” The dressmaker gave an uncertain nod.
“I see,” she croaked as the changeling began to edge closer to her again.
“But as I was sayin’,” he continued, “Her Majesty’s got herself a wee collection o’ prisoners ’neath the castle. Some hae been down there a wee bit too long, and are rather fashed aboot it.”
* * *
At the very bottom of the stairway stood an enormous door made of heavy oak planks, held together by rusted bands of iron. Crawler trotted ahead with his horn aglow, lighting up the lock with a dismal green. A miserable frown appeared on Coco’s face as it began to open. The hinges shrieked and groaned under its weight, their cries growing louder and louder the more the doorway was exposed. When it came to a sudden stop, Coco found herself staring down a long, narrow hallway. Dim torches hung from the stone walls, bathing everything in a hazy orange light. Both sides were lined with a row of doors that seemed to stretch on for eternity.
“Come noo, lass, right this way,” grunted Crawler as he began down the hall, “Mind the doors.” Coco drew her breath as she followed. The mare glanced left and right at the cells as she went. She could hear faint noises coming from behind the doors. One to her right appeared burnt and bruised, and the sound of a hammer striking iron echoed from the other side. Coco’s ears fell limp as they passed it by, sneaking a glance at the barred window. There was a squat, burly shadow inside standing over red hot coals, but little else could be seen through the hazy smoke that poured out into her eyes. The dressmaker drew away and stifled a cough.
The smell of cinders soon gave away to a more subtle, soothing smell. Coco’s glum demeanor became more neutral as they passed a door on her left. They were down, deep under the earth in a catacomb-like dungeon, and yet she swore she smelled flowers. The mare strained her neck to peek in through the window. She only just caught a glimpse of what looked like lush, green vegetation before Crawler caught her attention. The changeling’s eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared with a series of snorts. Coco nearly jumped out of her skin as he erupted into a violent sneezing fit. He swore and snarled between each sneeze, and she only understood half of what he was saying.
An aged, cheeky laugh came from somewhere inside the cell. Crawler’s glare looked like it was about to burn through the wooden planks.
“Ye gallus git!” he spat, swiftly planting a kick to the door, “I’ll tan yer rotten hide if ye sae much as look oot that window!” A wry glint came to Creeper’s eyes.
“That auld footer gettin’ the best o’ ye, Crawler?” snickered the emaciated changeling. Crawler’s wings twitched irritably against his back.
“Shut it,” he growled, “Or I’ll hae ye thrown in with him.”
They went on for a few minutes without interruption before they finally brought her before a door and stopped. As before, it was Crawler who undid the lock with his magic.
“Right,” he sighed as he stepped aside, “Ladies first.”
Coco reluctantly trotted into the room. It was surprising large, and lit by a series of candles sitting upon a flimsy wooden table in the middle of the room. Coco paused as she saw her own sewing machine sitting upon it surrounded by most of her thread and needles, which had been messily scattered across the soft planks. Whatever was not on the table was dumped in a pile in the corner. Much to her dismay, most of the thread had come off the spools and had become tangled in ugly, shaggy wads.
But what caught most of the mare’s attention was the enormous mound of cloth that took up nearly half the room. Her mouth dropped open as she looked it over. It was compiled of ancient, moth-eaten fabric, the colors faded to drab shadows of what they once were. The threads were loose, and whatever wasn’t full of holes had shrunken and wrinkled into useless scraps. A sour, stale, mildewed stench hung heavy around the yellowed sheets and tattered carpets, so pungent that it made her cringe.
Coco looked to Crawler with questioning eyes. The small changeling put a hoof to his mouth and cleared his throat.
“Right then,” he said, “We’ve tried tae make it canny for ye. Sae, uh, there’s whit ye’ll be workin’ with.” He gestured to the pile of putrid cloth. “We gathered up some clayis for ye frae around the castle.” Coco’s knees almost gave out. The mare glanced at the pile, then back to Crawler, and back to the pile again.
“But…I…” She couldn’t finish the sentence. She couldn’t believe it needed to be said in the first place.
“We’ll be comin’ tae check on ye every forenoon,” said Creeper, setting a box on the table, “Tae bring ye food and drink, and new tackle if ye need it. Maybe some company, if yer lonely.” Crawler glared at his brother, but said nothing.
“Alright, lass,” he sighed, “We’ll be seein’ ye taemorrow.”
With that, the three changelings left, leaving Coco alone in the cell.
* * *
A muffled gagging came from Coco’s throat as she held up a rotting nightgown in the direction of the candles. The shriveled, purple silk was covered in discolored blotches, making it look like the hide of some diseased animal. The mare turned it over a few times in her hooves, squinting through the dust and dirt that clouded her vision. A quick pull at one of the sleeves made a fringed tear at appear at the shoulder. Coco sighed and tossed the garment into one of the many piles that was accumulating in her cell. The nightgown went into the one designated for ‘maybe salvageable’. That pile was the smallest one.
The worry in the dressmaker’s eyes grew with each passing second. She glanced at the box on the table. It was the same one Chrysalis had thrown to her earlier; filled with the tattered clippings of formal-wear that she was expected to make out of rotting, centuries-old fabric. Coco looked away and focused on the next piece of ratty clothing in the pile. Small tears began to peek out from the edges of her eyes, blurring her vision. She sniffled as she wiped a tired hoof across her face, not caring about the dirty smudges it left on her eggshell coat. Deep down, Coco knew she was only delaying the inevitable failure that awaited her. Nothing could be made from these scraps except dishrags, and even then, she suspected they’d dissolve in water.
Her head began to droop as she let the rag fall from her hooves and flutter to the floor. It wasn’t fair.
“Why the long face, my dear?”
Coco’s head snapped back up in frenzied fear at the sound of the high, shrill, raspy voice that seemed to thunder throughout the quiet cell. She looked to the door expecting to see a changeling guard peeking in through the window. No one was there. The dressmaker jumped to her hooves, nearly tumbling over in her bewilderment. She caught sight of something on the table as she righted herself.
It was small, barely reaching up to her shoulder, and entirely green. Its patchy coat was green, its bloodshot eyes were green, and its snarled tail was green. The bony body supported a bulbous head, making it appear like an emaciated foal. Its face was sharp and angular, with a pointed chin and a narrow muzzle. The ears were enormous and bat-like, and between them grew a stunted, gnarled horn. Two large eyes were trained on Coco with a keen intelligence, and an unnerving touch of something else.
The dressmaker could only stare open-mouthed at the creature. It stared back, cocking its head from side to side. Once or twice it lifted its floppy, brownish-red cap and scratched at the tangled green mane underneath. At last, Coco found her voice and broke the awkward silence.
“…H-hello…”
“Good evening,” the creature said. The dressmaker took a moment to muster up her senses before speaking again.
“Who are you?”
The creature’s eyes flashed with something foul for a fleeting second before returning to a warm curiosity.
“That all depends on who you ask,” said the creature, “I’ve been many things to many different ponies; A friend to some, an enemy to others.” Coco took a wary step back at the mention of ‘enemy’. The creature let out a shrill cackle as he caught sight of her worried frown.
“There’s no need to be fearful, my dear. Most of my enemies have been changelings. I suspect that they’re your enemies as well?”
“I suppose they are,” admitted the earth mare, “They’re enemies of most ponies, as far as I know.” The creature sighed and shook his head.
“They’ve never been fond of ponies. Sometimes I doubt that they’re fond of each other.” Coco glanced to the door of her cell.
“I’ve noticed.”
The creature craned its neck and peered at the pile of rancid clothing behind the mare. “…I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but those clothes are beyond darning.” Coco followed his gaze to the mound and bit her lip.
“I know,” breathed the mare. The thing on the table raised an eyebrow.
“Then what are you doing with them?”
Coco drew a deep breath of the stagnant dungeon air.
“Queen Chrysalis wants them made into new clothes for the changelings to wear to the Crystal Ball.” The creature’s eyes widened at this, and he leaned forward with a bemused frown.
“The Crystal Ball?” he echoed, “She wants clothing to attend the Crystal Ball and you have to make it out of this?” He waved a spindly foreleg across the room at the piles of decayed cloth. Coco only gave a solemn nod in response.
“That seems…Well, to be completely honest, a bit much,” said the creature, “It’s no wonder you look so glum, my dear.” Coco fell into a dejected slouch and stared at the crumpled dress before her.
“There’s no argument there,” she sighed.
“I suppose the consequences are severe if you can’t produce anything?”
Coco looked up at the creature through her limp bangs to see him investigating her sewing machine, pawing at its components with a skeptical air.
“They said they’d kill me.”
One of the creature’s oversized ears pricked up and swiveled in her direction. An unnerving grin of sharp, yellow teeth flashed across his unsightly features. It vanished as he turned back to her and was replaced with a concerned frown.
“Then I suppose,” he said, “That you want to make the clothing so that she spares your life, correct?” Coco shifted on her hooves uncomfortably.
“I-I would, yes,” she said, “But the material’s beyond saving, and even then, there’s no way I could finish them all by next month.” The creature gave an understanding nod of his head and stroked his chin with a calloused hoof. Coco could see the gears of thought turning away behind his eyes, but could not discern what it was they were processing.
The table and its contents suddenly rattled as the tiny green unicorn leapt onto the dusty floor and began scuttling toward her. The dressmaker took an uneasy step back. It moved with a spidery grace that raised the hairs of her neck.
“Oddly enough, my talents lie in the situation you now find yourself,” he chuckled as he plopped down in a mound of musty linen. Coco frowned in confusion; apprehension knotting her stomach as the creature gave her an overly eager smile.
“What do you mean?” murmured the mare. She winced as the creature’s horn lit up with a sharp crackle. Writhing tendrils of green energy snaked over to the ‘Maybe Salvageable’ pile and took hold of the purple nightgown Coco had just inspected. The creature giggled as it flew across the room and landed before them.
“I am skilled in many things,” said the creature as it looked the dress over, “But above all, I exceed in tasks relating to textile work.” More shimmering tendrils sprouted from the creature’s horn and reached into the numerous pockets of his vest. They emerged with spools of coarse thread and rusted needles in their grasp. The creature’s eyes lit up with zealous glee as the tools began jabbing forward into the decayed scraps. Coco watched in dumbfounded awe as the needles began working at an incredible speed, working their way up tears and darning odd punctures. The earth pony’s tired eyes blinked heavily as they tried to keep up with the glowing green needles. They had an almost hypnotic effect, and Coco could feel her eyelids growing heavier with each passing second.
“And~…That should about do it.” Coco was jolted awake as the shrill voice of the creature reverberated in her ear. The startled stare on her face grew even more intense when she saw what had happened to the nightgown. It had been restored to a beautiful garment of shimmering purple silk, the collar and sleeves adorned with golden trim that glittered as if it were real. The seamstress slowly reached out a hoof to touch the gown. It felt as smooth and fine as water. She looked back to the creature to see every inch of his twisted face beaming with pride.
“You’ll not find a better gown than that, my dear,” he said, “That is, unless I decide to make one.” Coco’s open mouth twitched at the corners until it formed a smile.
“T-thank you,” she breathed, her voice rising to a grateful chime. The earth pony felt a tingling rise up into her chest. It was a combination of excitement and hope; two things that she was unused to feeling.
“You’re very much welcome,” the creature said with a small bow, “I’m always looking out for those who are in trouble.” He smiled at Coco and grasped her hoof with his own. It was as cold as ice and felt rough and leathery like snakeskin, but Coco didn’t let any of her revulsion show.
“I…don’t have any way to repay you,” she said, sheepishly averting her gaze. The creature smiled in a curious way.
“Your company will be enough,” he said, “It’s been so long since I’ve had anyone to talk to.” He glanced back at the mound of clothing. “But I suppose we should start. We’ve got a lot of work to do, my dear.”
