Chrysologyby BadChaptersChapter 1Chapter 2Chapter 3Chapter 4Chapter 1“It has never been fair,” she said to the changeling serving her. There wasn’t a reply because it was unneeded. “I know that in normal circumstances you wouldn’t voice your thoughts since it has been considered unnecessary ever since, we, changelings came to be.” The changeling stopped cleaning the chamber and faced the queen, foreseeing a change in orders. “But for one instant excuse your Queen for her unorthodox manners and allow her to ask,” she said. Her face brightened a second after. “Or better, let she demand an answer... by the means of a little game.” The changeling made no discernible motion, yet a ‘yes’ was undoubtedly conveyed. Chrysalis stood up and said, “As always, I appreciate your cooperation.” She carelessly dropped an aggravating emphasis on the last word. “I haven’t been myself as of lately, and because recent happenings, more than ever I find myself in debt with all of you.” She walked down the mound that supported her seat. Despite changelings being quite unreasonable, they had no trouble in comprehending logic statements or obeying orders. For her, the contradiction only made more enjoyable the game she intended to play. “We have been lucky despite the relative failure of our mission. Firstly, if the spell we were blasted with were not of defensive nature, I’m not sure how many of us would be alive. Secondly, the kingdom, our hive, is still stable under my rule, not only because we managed to siphon enough resources. There is a notorious lack of successors,” she said hurriedly, with unease, like resenting those words. The changeling was disconcerted. The queen wasn't supposed to act this way. At least not without acting, but it was hard to tell when she was lying. After all, the Queen had the decision on what to unveil to her hive. The changeling tried again to find some cue to understand her Queen’s reasons, but, confusingly, any indicator of grief was gone from her face the instant the changeling glanced again. “Some of our previous conditions, like reduced workforce, have been worsened. Thus, I have had no time to look pretty in this ‘throne’ for the past two months,” Chrysalis said. “But now that I have had taken care of the most pressing matters, I can allow myself to have some mildly useful fun,” she added. With a smirk Chrysalis lit her horn and the entire room glowed a fluorescent green. Old mechanisms were activated and subtle magic permeated the room in a way only changelings could sense. The poor changeling had no time to understand what was happening before feeling dizzy and promptly falling and passing out. The changeling found herself fully conscious, some time after, upon the sight of two giant green irises inspecting her uncomfortably close, at barely inches from her nose. She hurriedly tried to regain posture, finding it impossible as she failed to balance her weight. She ended falling awkwardly and hurting one of her rear fetlocks. Chrysalis leaned back and said, “it is advisable to stay down, that is, for the time being.” Her horn was still glowing, as well as the whole room. After calming herself, she noticed the strange atmosphere the place had taken. It was dry and burning cold, even though not physically, was as insufferable as if it were. It was like being abandoned in the southernmost dessert. Solitude… The reason dawned on her. Chrysalis had severed the mental link in the area, completely separating them from shared thoughts. Few changelings could tolerate isolation. They would usually go progressively insane, even beyond self preservation. Her past experiences—probably the reason she was called for—and the Queen’s presence gave her confidence that she would preserve a sane mind. “I presume you have reached the right conclusion,” Chrysalis said. “I’m not surprised, you were the best at adaptation from your generation, Ananke.“ She made a pause. “Even so that you were the only survivor, if I recall correctly.” She managed to stand up, albeit shakily. It was a rarity that changelings would be reminded of their past, or be addressed by their singular name, rather than their functional name. “M-My Queen?” she asked. Chrysalis dismissed the last comment. She had finished doing her incantation and was presently seeing the expanse of the room that visually resonated with a soft turquoise glow. Eventually the glow vanished from the walls and ceiling, bar a spot that was too high to discern its shape. Chrysalis was smiling. “Now, if you allow me, a small test,” she said. Ananke was, again, unprepared. There was a blinding flash of green before the place dimmed to almost complete darkness. She was dumbfounded. “Queen?” she said. There was no reply. She searched for the powerful aura of the queen. A futile action, she found, as she remembered the queen could disguise more than her mere appearance. It seemed that Chrysalis had abandoned the area, or was hiding somewhere. She could do nothing either way. Recalling Chrysalis’ words, Ananke decided to do the right thing thing: wait. It didn’t take much time for her thoughts betray her trustful spirit, and take doubt about the Queen’s words. It wasn’t by any means right—it was not the proper way to behave—but she couldn’t avoid to pry on things that she not make heads or tails. It was her gift and defect. Even if the way she was being treated had no precedents as far as she knew, they way she behaved was uncommon among her species. Changelings weren't raised with the knowledge of speech to be personally ordered, that quality was a way to fit along the other species easier. Instead, their society adapted so the Queen only needed to queue what she wanted done, and changelings worked their best to fulfill that query. For this purpose they developed more efficient ways to communicate. For the good or worse, she had trouble using that skill since young. Ananke would usually need to experience and learn things by herself. It made her stand out a bit, because she would need to ask for indications or so called common knowledge very often. Thankfully, as she found later in her life, her peers never cared much about her eccentricity. Their interest was very clear, to serve the hive. Changelings fighting against each other meant a fragmented hive and failure as a race. That was the way all changeling colonies worked. Or so she had been told. Upon thinking, she realized that she had never heard about changelings outside her particular settlement. Maybe they were the only ones.If that were the case... She flinched at the thought. If that were the case, well, she she could at least feel special. That was bittersweet, in a strange way. It might have its bright side. Maybe if they declared themselves a species in danger of extinction they would be let in hospitable territories again. Maybe. With some restrictions. She knew they had burned many bridges, but there were always second chances. Well, nearly always. Perhaps not with minotaurs… or griffons. Those ‘expeditions’ went badly. They were successful as they didn’t die of starvation or slaughter. Nevertheless, if one accounted for everything that happened there, even the bride the Queen replaced in Canterlot would be more forgiving of her kind. Ponies, of course. They were still their best chance. Perhaps not now, but certainly in the foreseeable future. It was easier to disguise as them and they were extremely friendly. Its mere image made her mouth water. She was hungry now. But she could perfectly stand the hunger some more time. She needed to, it was her duty. Chapter 2“...” It’s been at least half a day. She didn’t want to admit it, but the wait was wearing her. Plus, the darkness did nothing to help her sullening mood. She could not see anything beyond a hoof from her face. That was irritating, given the uneven floor, because she could trip over easily. Her leg was still hurting from trying to walk around. She wondered where the light had come from anyways. The throne room had no magic lamps, she was sure of that; she had worked here last month. It was strange, she never missed that kind of details. She gazed upwards and found the tiny spot of light that denied complete darkness. Despite she could not discern its shape, it was an unmistakable object; it was as if the light wasn’t there until now. Had she missed anything else? Turning around, she saw light seep from a horizontal aperture, albeit faintly. That was one more thing she could not remember seeing before. She had to move closer to make sure it wasn’t her eyes deceiving her. It had to be an exit, but the only one access to the throne room was supposed to be at other side. She hesitated, but finally yielded to to curiosity. She tentatively pushed the surface above the opening. It moved; it was a door. She opened the right side of the door enough to take a glimpse of the other side. It looked like a normal corridor, perhaps a bit too narrow and low. It wasn’t the pompous hallway that lead to the throne, but it hadn’t any otherworldly attribute besides its size. Time passed as she pondered. Should she go through the door? Convinced that waiting would not lead her to anything, she decided to proceed. Closing her eyes in an attempt to reduce her fears, she ran ahead. Unfortunately, she forgot the size and orientation of the corridor and consequently she hit the opposite wall of the corridor with her horn and face. “Unsurprising,” she said, amused by the sound of her own voice amidst the silence. Forgetting her sprained joint, she yelped in pain shortly after moving her rear legs. There was a barely audible squeak, just next to her. It was enough to terrify her, even if the sound wasn’t of the menacing kind. Opening her eyes she saw an abnormally small changeling keeping a shallow distance from her. Its proportions were right, it was only that he seemed way too small, in likeness of the whole place. His eyes—which she found fixed on her—were at most at one third of her height and depicted a deep violet, instead of the usual blue. She tried to communicate with him as usual, but found again the blockade Chrysalis had imposed around her. She would need to try another means. “Greetings,” she said. “I’ve been to many places in the hive, but I do not seem to know this area. Could I ask for your help?” There was no response. “Could I know the reason of your stare at least?” she asked. Despite sense, the changeling’s eyes remained on her and his mouth didn’t dare to emit sound. Mildly annoyed, she started to get back on her hooves, to which the changeling responded by slowly backing up. “Can you hear me?” she said, her tone louder. The response she got was the said changeling bolting as if chased by some monster. “Thanks anyways.” Ananke stood there a good deal of time, trying to comprehend what was happening. Was she supposed to be here? Waiting some more hours in the previous room sounded more reasonable now. Here, she could only feel foreign. Despite the similarities, this certainly wasn’t her hive, it didn’t feel like it. It had to be. The place she called home had a strong scent of belonging and strife. This place felt less piquant, in a manner of speaking, almost bland. She could probably tell- “Thus… under conditions… you know what… want may be…” Her thoughts were interrupted. She was sure she had overheard someone. She waited silently. “But… we ever.... it’s needed…” The voice was different this time, but came from the same place as the previous. She considered the possibility to get more information. The dangers of exploring this place was outweighing her curiosity at the moment. She suspected hives were hostile towards each other. The little changeling might have ran away because the size difference. With advantage in numbers, she unsure of that fact. Looking behind her, she found that the door she came from had vanished. Confused, she probed the walls with her hooves. Completely solid. And idea came to be. She inspected the area in the search of suspicious apertures, cracks. She found none. There were two possibilities, she considered dramatically. One, the throne room was enchanted so trespassers would be lost in a always changing labyrinth. She might have found one of those poor souls—she had heard that some changelings literally shrunk under food deprivation—who probably fled in the fear of being cannibalized. Two, she was in a magically induced dream, probably under the control of someone who wanted to extract information from her. Ananke was sure she didn’t know much, though. She found her ease knowing it was likely she was dreaming. She had probably dozed off at one point while waiting for the Queen’s instructions. She had almost forgotten. She wasn’t supposed to take a nap! A reprimand was surely on its way for her fault. She needed to wake up. The problem was she had no idea how to do so; she had never dreamed under circumstances like this. She had only heard tales. The protagonist would endure deviously machined nightmares, created with the purpose of destroying the soul, to which the character would suffer. In the end, though, it was said about whom prevailed, that they had found something more valuable than life. Those were works of fiction. But that didn’t remove their inspirational value. She was convinced now. She might be admonished many times in her life, but how many times one has a lucid dream? As the Queen had said: “I can allow myself to have some mildly useful fun.” She headed towards the voices without doubt. She didn’t need to pretend to know anymore. Chapter 3It’s been some time since enthusiasm wore off. I glance back. I start to despise the long and narrow corridors that have so far led me nowhere. Navigating through the ‘labyrinth’ proved itself easier than I though. Most doors led to empty rooms, making it a mostly straightforward journey. Numbingly dull, yes, but it was hard to get lost. You could only go forward or backwards along the main path, everything else was a dead end. Yet, I didn’t find trace of the odd one I had found before. I had no way to ask him for his motives to fear me. He might have known the way out, or he could possibly be a stray that was as clueless as I. Either way, I’ll never know. I suppose if I’m navigating a fabricated reality, there is no guarantee of continuity and logic. I am still considering other possibilities. That only because I’m frequently amazed by the detail and congruency of the place. I found myself keeping a mental map having both general arrangement and small random details I came across. If my memory were to be trusted right now, I could affirm there were no inconsistencies. I checked. Twice. Doors, halls, stairs, pebbles, tiles, wall cracks, ceiling imperfections, anything I could remember, was in place the moment I checked again. The murmurs weren’t that predictable, though. I think that was the reason maps came to my mind in the first place. They would sound from different directions each time they happened, and they wouldn’t last long. Frustrating. It was eerie too. I had no reason to believe it, but it felt like I was the subject of discussion. I have to admit. Part of me couldn’t avoid to beam of joy with that prospect. It was something I missed from the time I had spent with pony society: recognition. Of course we were rewarded for outstanding work here in the hive, from time to time. But it wasn't the heartwarming appreciation I had found outside. It was intoxicating. That so, I discovered it poisonous to our society. At least for those who are vulnerable, like me. I only will say I had a small incident with authority. I spent years without fulfilling my so called ‘purpose’ as an information gatherer as ‘precautionary’ measure. I can say being a janitor in changeling society is not rewarding, but it let me reappraise my kind. It is said you won’t truly know home until you go outside and back again. I found it true. Something I can’t conceive is how changelings could work incessantly with so few rewarding and punishment. When I was young, I took it for granted, like if it was something that always had to be. To my surprise, it wasn’t a law of nature. Ponies, and many other species I was able to met, seem to need consistently some kind of social glue to work properly, despite their inherent ability to bond. It’s a conundrum. I think I will never understand that. To be fair, I’m finding this little adventure boring. Chasing some voice through countless empty rooms and passages has been of little value. I have no idea why I'm doing this anymore. Fate? Just as I question destiny, a questionably fortunate event happens. “Well, it is settled then. I’m glad we reached an agreement,” I hear a mere three rooms ahead. It is a female voice I don’t recognize. She speaks loud enough, firm but not condescending. “Even if it is impossible for things to end well for everyone.” I hear no reply afterwards. Why all of all things, no answer? That’s one of the things that drives me mad, incomplete information. I’m here debating internally. I know I should not care. But for some reason, I can’t bring myself to walk ahead. I want to know, but not. No. I want to not know my ignorance. Yet, I’m desperate to hear the whole story. Even if it is only morbid curiosity. I mean, I can walk upon and say, “Good day, I was just passing by, and happened to overhear something about tragic consequences, may I know the details?” I doubt it will be well received, but since this might be some figments of imagination, I may get a complete different response. I suppose- “You may come in,” she says. “Yes, you little one, just outside the door.” I obliged. I had no choice as she had discovered me and I really wanted to know. I cannot shake a small feeling of fear. She might have been seeing me ever since stepping out the damned door. I think I hate doors now. And while I’m disliking its particularities as an object, what annoys me the most it’s that you cannot know what lies beyond without entangling yourself with whatever lies beyond. The entrance is guarded by one of those miserable planks of wood. This one, though, seems to be in a much better condition than any other I had seen before. It has its white paint in pristine condition. It makes me wonder what color had been the other doors, if they had been painted at some point in time anyways. “You have been looking forward to reach this place, isn’t it?” she reminds me. “If you allow me give a word of advice, I think it’s better to not postpone further, you never know when one longs for time lost.” I just realize I had stood outside of the room lost in my thoughts far longer than I intended. I push it open, feeling little resistance, to reveal a tall room I can only describe as a bedroom, sans the bed. It was like an small office, mixed with apparently personal objects. I see a chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Almost below the chandelier there is a huge red couch lying in front of an unlit chimney. From other side of the room a showcase displays several artifacts I’m unsure of their nature. There are lots of papers and books distributed along some furniture. What surprises me the most is that there are windows. They are open and their stained glass lets in cold air from an apparently moonless night. “Welcome,” she says from a corner hidden by a humongous cupboard. “I’m sorry to ask you, but could you clean your hooves in the doormat? It’s been raining as of lately.” I’m confused, but nonetheless I stare down my hooves. To my surprise, they covered with somewhat dry mud. I see back towards the door. The labyrinth hallways are gone, replaced by a nighttime prairie. This has to be a dream. I use the doormat and close the door. “Please take a seat, I’ll be there soon,” she says. I notice there is an small purple couch just next to me. I took seat and wait for the mysterious voice. I hear the sound of glass clattering. I turn towards the corner and see a golden aura holding some tableware. I think I died a bit when I saw the color of the levitation spell. It could not be one of us. Such colored magic was almost exclusive to ponies. What was a pony doing here? My face remains calm while a small table is pulled to the middle of the room. I smell cinnamon. A tall white figure finally cames from behind the furniture. She holds a teapot and two cups within her magical grasp. Expectedly, she is a pony. Surprisingly, she has both horn and wings. “Excuse my lateness, I had a visitor just before you. I didn’t expect you to come this early.” Chapter 4 I stare at her violet eyes. They are not currently watching me, but I know she is inspecting me; dissecting every single piece of evidence I may unwittingly present. Of what, I don’t know. She is pouring the infusion in teacup. “Want some tea?” she asks. I notice that she moves a platter from behind her. She puts it in a small table between us. I’m moderately sure the table wasn’t there before. The least I can feel is unease. I hesitate, and she seems to notice. After briefly looking at me, she places the steaming cup in front of her. I do a double take when she adds granulated sugar. “Some might heavily criticize this,“ she says as she takes the other cup and takes a small brown package from the platter. She breaks the little bag and some granulated substance falls on the teacup. I can smell it, it’s coffee. “But I know you wholeheartedly enjoy this kind of concoction.” She lets the teapot’s contents flow into my cup. “Here, the sugar,” she signals me to two sugar bowls on the platter. I pick the one with the cubes. On different circumstances I’d say nothing. I wouldn’t even accept anything. I know I shouldn't, but this mare already knows me far more than I know her. ...that is, if she is who she seems to be. If not, well, she deserves some praise; she has bested changelings in their own game. “Thanks,” I say. “You are welcome,” I hear her saying, but I’m averting her eyes. “I know you are anxious for answers, but shall we start by another topic?” I’m unsure what to do. I face her again, bring my cup up and drink from it; hopefully buying me some time. The flavor is amazing, I hadn’t tasted something close in likeness in a long time. “It is not cassia, if you are wondering. I enjoy the softness of the Ceylon variety,“ she says while blinking one eye. I do not like that. I have to cooperate in anyways. I doubt staying silent would do any good. “B-By chance have you met Carmine Fennel?” I manage to blurt out. “No; I believe not,” she says. I don’t know if I should take her word. “Who is him?” she asks. “He… was the most talented pony at making any kind of beverage, as far as I know” I point out. “I met him in a famed Canterlot café. I was… disguised as a waitress. He was really humble in spite of his status. He would usually offer some free ‘requests’ at the end of the working hours to his co-workers. “I always said no, until some day he insisted me: «If you don’t accept, I won’t take your customers’ orders anymore.» “I told him, «Alright, I only want a coffee, simple, with no dairy products, no more than three ingredients. One coffee that tastes as much as pure grain and water as you can possibly bring yourself to make.» He didn’t object. “I was surprised when he brought me a mug only three minutes after. It steamed a wonderful fragrance. «Here, picky customer, your simple drink in a lackluster receipt,» he said.” I pause. The coffee I’m holding is undeniably similar. “I took a sip. The mug was empty not a minute after. To say it was good it’s a gross underestimation,” I abruptly finish my story. She holds a smile I can’t decide if mischievous or grateful. Ever slowly, she levitates her cup away from the table while pulling out a handkerchief. I didn’t notice the moment she finished. She briefly looks at the window before talking. "How should I address you, my dear guest? It’s rather cumbersome to speak impersonally." "Ananke," I say absentmindedly. Uh oh. I feel the need to punch myself. I guess I shouldn't have said that. At least I can salvage something from the slip. "Who are you? I mean, I know who you resemble, but I sincerely doubt a pony princess would have business with a common changeling." Yes, certainly. "It depends," she says casually. That's cheating and she knows it. "But... you might call me Celestia, given the circumstances, as I'm going to be the only Celestia you will find here. Even though I'm not the one you have heard of." "I suppose that's good enough." I say as silence engulfs the room for what could have been minutes. “Frankly, I expected a much less cooperative talk. You have done well, I won’t impatient you longer,” she says. "That is, if you don’t want me to engage in pointless banter." I let the question linger in the air with an unsaid 'No thanks.' She seems to acknowledge my response. “You see, everything here is not completely real.” She points to the window, where one could see the night, vividly. “Come, see.” She approaches the window, and I follow cautiously. She places her hoof below its arch, it takes me a second to understand she was telling me to look outside. I realize it is not the scenery of an usual night. The landscape looks barren and monotone. The bright ivory ground contrasts with a profoundly black sky. Despite the encompassing darkness, there are uncountably many stars on it. Any night sky I had ever seen paled in detail to this one. I follow the horizon and find a blue halo peeking over its leftmost side. It is moving along a curved trajectory, advancing more horizontally than vertically, towards the center. About one third from reaching the middle, I can finally see its shape. It is a familiar, yet alien sight. I see a disk, or rather a sphere, sporting a mix between blues, greens, yellows and whites. A shape I recognize from maps is imprinted on it: Equestria. It meant the disk was Equus. And here… was the Moon? What was she implying when she said everything here wasn’t completely real? “The sight you are seeing is real and present, but our bodies aren’t here in reality,” she answers, as if knowing my thoughts. “Neither this house.” I ponder if what she says is true. I see so much detail, and I seem to be perfectly conscious that I find it easy to believe it. It still sounds far-fetched, though— “Careful, you might burn yourself with that tea,” Celestia breaks my stupor with her warning. I notice I’m still holding my tea, but I have dripped some on the floor. A shame, it was delicious. “What is this place?” I ask. “That is a hard question to answer. The most succinct explanation would be a magical matrix, not unlike dreamscapes, with elements similar to those of changeling collective minds that is anchored by powerful artifacts that could be technically classified as golems.” I don’t know the specifics of most advanced magic, but I have learnt enough to have some insight. “So there is something in the moon which shares this view with our minds?” I say. She nods. Interesting. “And then this is created by somepony dreaming?” I circle my limb towards the room. “Not particularly. It can be formed at will from one’s mind. Sufficiently strong fingments may provoke a memory effect.” She flinched, as if predicting where my train of thought was leading. “So thus far I have been traversing spaces forged by the collective imagination of the many that have been here, including mine and yours? Am I still where I physically ‘left’?” “Yes. Most likely,” she said, answering both questions. I will cross the line with the next question, but I deem it necessary. “You said this place has elements of changeling magic. Can you pry into my thoughts? If true, since when does ponies have access to changeling knowledge?” She pauses, but never drops that smile I'm starting to despise. "If I were to answer that first question, would I change your opinion anyways?" she says. She is right; even if the way she replies disturbs me. "You would be surprised how old is that knowledge," she adds. "It was there even before I was born, and I am really old." "Why are you telling me this?" I say. "Because without a proper introduction, you would disregard what I need to tell you." She closes her eyes and a purple mist forms just in front of her. I step back in anticipation. I'm ready to run if needed. But if what she said is true, it will be of no use. The mist takes an equine shape. Her horn lits in a golden aura which coalesces with the mist. It takes a solid appearance, mist becoming black chunks of something; it is being sewed in the air. She finishes faster than I expected, and I cannot believe it. She holds 'it' within her telekinesis. A creature that resembles perfectly one of my kind. "Before you ask, no, it has no true sentience, its existence is currently pegged to mine," she says. "I would rather ask you something, if you don't mind?" My curiosity is overwhelming my common sense, I have never seen magic like that. I need to know, I must. No. This must be her trap, being friendly until the time she has my trust and bestows a temptation upon me. It has to be. No, I won’t reveal anything. "What kind of question you say?" Her smile brightems. "Oh, just wondering if you want a crash course on how magic works here, so you learn how to question the place itself. "You see, this place is literally forged from thoughts and feelings, as I just exemplified."
Chapter 1“It has never been fair,” she said to the changeling serving her. There wasn’t a reply because it was unneeded. “I know that in normal circumstances you wouldn’t voice your thoughts since it has been considered unnecessary ever since, we, changelings came to be.” The changeling stopped cleaning the chamber and faced the queen, foreseeing a change in orders. “But for one instant excuse your Queen for her unorthodox manners and allow her to ask,” she said. Her face brightened a second after. “Or better, let she demand an answer... by the means of a little game.” The changeling made no discernible motion, yet a ‘yes’ was undoubtedly conveyed. Chrysalis stood up and said, “As always, I appreciate your cooperation.” She carelessly dropped an aggravating emphasis on the last word. “I haven’t been myself as of lately, and because recent happenings, more than ever I find myself in debt with all of you.” She walked down the mound that supported her seat. Despite changelings being quite unreasonable, they had no trouble in comprehending logic statements or obeying orders. For her, the contradiction only made more enjoyable the game she intended to play. “We have been lucky despite the relative failure of our mission. Firstly, if the spell we were blasted with were not of defensive nature, I’m not sure how many of us would be alive. Secondly, the kingdom, our hive, is still stable under my rule, not only because we managed to siphon enough resources. There is a notorious lack of successors,” she said hurriedly, with unease, like resenting those words. The changeling was disconcerted. The queen wasn't supposed to act this way. At least not without acting, but it was hard to tell when she was lying. After all, the Queen had the decision on what to unveil to her hive. The changeling tried again to find some cue to understand her Queen’s reasons, but, confusingly, any indicator of grief was gone from her face the instant the changeling glanced again. “Some of our previous conditions, like reduced workforce, have been worsened. Thus, I have had no time to look pretty in this ‘throne’ for the past two months,” Chrysalis said. “But now that I have had taken care of the most pressing matters, I can allow myself to have some mildly useful fun,” she added. With a smirk Chrysalis lit her horn and the entire room glowed a fluorescent green. Old mechanisms were activated and subtle magic permeated the room in a way only changelings could sense. The poor changeling had no time to understand what was happening before feeling dizzy and promptly falling and passing out. The changeling found herself fully conscious, some time after, upon the sight of two giant green irises inspecting her uncomfortably close, at barely inches from her nose. She hurriedly tried to regain posture, finding it impossible as she failed to balance her weight. She ended falling awkwardly and hurting one of her rear fetlocks. Chrysalis leaned back and said, “it is advisable to stay down, that is, for the time being.” Her horn was still glowing, as well as the whole room. After calming herself, she noticed the strange atmosphere the place had taken. It was dry and burning cold, even though not physically, was as insufferable as if it were. It was like being abandoned in the southernmost dessert. Solitude… The reason dawned on her. Chrysalis had severed the mental link in the area, completely separating them from shared thoughts. Few changelings could tolerate isolation. They would usually go progressively insane, even beyond self preservation. Her past experiences—probably the reason she was called for—and the Queen’s presence gave her confidence that she would preserve a sane mind. “I presume you have reached the right conclusion,” Chrysalis said. “I’m not surprised, you were the best at adaptation from your generation, Ananke.“ She made a pause. “Even so that you were the only survivor, if I recall correctly.” She managed to stand up, albeit shakily. It was a rarity that changelings would be reminded of their past, or be addressed by their singular name, rather than their functional name. “M-My Queen?” she asked. Chrysalis dismissed the last comment. She had finished doing her incantation and was presently seeing the expanse of the room that visually resonated with a soft turquoise glow. Eventually the glow vanished from the walls and ceiling, bar a spot that was too high to discern its shape. Chrysalis was smiling. “Now, if you allow me, a small test,” she said. Ananke was, again, unprepared. There was a blinding flash of green before the place dimmed to almost complete darkness. She was dumbfounded. “Queen?” she said. There was no reply. She searched for the powerful aura of the queen. A futile action, she found, as she remembered the queen could disguise more than her mere appearance. It seemed that Chrysalis had abandoned the area, or was hiding somewhere. She could do nothing either way. Recalling Chrysalis’ words, Ananke decided to do the right thing thing: wait. It didn’t take much time for her thoughts betray her trustful spirit, and take doubt about the Queen’s words. It wasn’t by any means right—it was not the proper way to behave—but she couldn’t avoid to pry on things that she not make heads or tails. It was her gift and defect. Even if the way she was being treated had no precedents as far as she knew, they way she behaved was uncommon among her species. Changelings weren't raised with the knowledge of speech to be personally ordered, that quality was a way to fit along the other species easier. Instead, their society adapted so the Queen only needed to queue what she wanted done, and changelings worked their best to fulfill that query. For this purpose they developed more efficient ways to communicate. For the good or worse, she had trouble using that skill since young. Ananke would usually need to experience and learn things by herself. It made her stand out a bit, because she would need to ask for indications or so called common knowledge very often. Thankfully, as she found later in her life, her peers never cared much about her eccentricity. Their interest was very clear, to serve the hive. Changelings fighting against each other meant a fragmented hive and failure as a race. That was the way all changeling colonies worked. Or so she had been told. Upon thinking, she realized that she had never heard about changelings outside her particular settlement. Maybe they were the only ones.If that were the case... She flinched at the thought. If that were the case, well, she she could at least feel special. That was bittersweet, in a strange way. It might have its bright side. Maybe if they declared themselves a species in danger of extinction they would be let in hospitable territories again. Maybe. With some restrictions. She knew they had burned many bridges, but there were always second chances. Well, nearly always. Perhaps not with minotaurs… or griffons. Those ‘expeditions’ went badly. They were successful as they didn’t die of starvation or slaughter. Nevertheless, if one accounted for everything that happened there, even the bride the Queen replaced in Canterlot would be more forgiving of her kind. Ponies, of course. They were still their best chance. Perhaps not now, but certainly in the foreseeable future. It was easier to disguise as them and they were extremely friendly. Its mere image made her mouth water. She was hungry now. But she could perfectly stand the hunger some more time. She needed to, it was her duty.
Chapter 2“...” It’s been at least half a day. She didn’t want to admit it, but the wait was wearing her. Plus, the darkness did nothing to help her sullening mood. She could not see anything beyond a hoof from her face. That was irritating, given the uneven floor, because she could trip over easily. Her leg was still hurting from trying to walk around. She wondered where the light had come from anyways. The throne room had no magic lamps, she was sure of that; she had worked here last month. It was strange, she never missed that kind of details. She gazed upwards and found the tiny spot of light that denied complete darkness. Despite she could not discern its shape, it was an unmistakable object; it was as if the light wasn’t there until now. Had she missed anything else? Turning around, she saw light seep from a horizontal aperture, albeit faintly. That was one more thing she could not remember seeing before. She had to move closer to make sure it wasn’t her eyes deceiving her. It had to be an exit, but the only one access to the throne room was supposed to be at other side. She hesitated, but finally yielded to to curiosity. She tentatively pushed the surface above the opening. It moved; it was a door. She opened the right side of the door enough to take a glimpse of the other side. It looked like a normal corridor, perhaps a bit too narrow and low. It wasn’t the pompous hallway that lead to the throne, but it hadn’t any otherworldly attribute besides its size. Time passed as she pondered. Should she go through the door? Convinced that waiting would not lead her to anything, she decided to proceed. Closing her eyes in an attempt to reduce her fears, she ran ahead. Unfortunately, she forgot the size and orientation of the corridor and consequently she hit the opposite wall of the corridor with her horn and face. “Unsurprising,” she said, amused by the sound of her own voice amidst the silence. Forgetting her sprained joint, she yelped in pain shortly after moving her rear legs. There was a barely audible squeak, just next to her. It was enough to terrify her, even if the sound wasn’t of the menacing kind. Opening her eyes she saw an abnormally small changeling keeping a shallow distance from her. Its proportions were right, it was only that he seemed way too small, in likeness of the whole place. His eyes—which she found fixed on her—were at most at one third of her height and depicted a deep violet, instead of the usual blue. She tried to communicate with him as usual, but found again the blockade Chrysalis had imposed around her. She would need to try another means. “Greetings,” she said. “I’ve been to many places in the hive, but I do not seem to know this area. Could I ask for your help?” There was no response. “Could I know the reason of your stare at least?” she asked. Despite sense, the changeling’s eyes remained on her and his mouth didn’t dare to emit sound. Mildly annoyed, she started to get back on her hooves, to which the changeling responded by slowly backing up. “Can you hear me?” she said, her tone louder. The response she got was the said changeling bolting as if chased by some monster. “Thanks anyways.” Ananke stood there a good deal of time, trying to comprehend what was happening. Was she supposed to be here? Waiting some more hours in the previous room sounded more reasonable now. Here, she could only feel foreign. Despite the similarities, this certainly wasn’t her hive, it didn’t feel like it. It had to be. The place she called home had a strong scent of belonging and strife. This place felt less piquant, in a manner of speaking, almost bland. She could probably tell- “Thus… under conditions… you know what… want may be…” Her thoughts were interrupted. She was sure she had overheard someone. She waited silently. “But… we ever.... it’s needed…” The voice was different this time, but came from the same place as the previous. She considered the possibility to get more information. The dangers of exploring this place was outweighing her curiosity at the moment. She suspected hives were hostile towards each other. The little changeling might have ran away because the size difference. With advantage in numbers, she unsure of that fact. Looking behind her, she found that the door she came from had vanished. Confused, she probed the walls with her hooves. Completely solid. And idea came to be. She inspected the area in the search of suspicious apertures, cracks. She found none. There were two possibilities, she considered dramatically. One, the throne room was enchanted so trespassers would be lost in a always changing labyrinth. She might have found one of those poor souls—she had heard that some changelings literally shrunk under food deprivation—who probably fled in the fear of being cannibalized. Two, she was in a magically induced dream, probably under the control of someone who wanted to extract information from her. Ananke was sure she didn’t know much, though. She found her ease knowing it was likely she was dreaming. She had probably dozed off at one point while waiting for the Queen’s instructions. She had almost forgotten. She wasn’t supposed to take a nap! A reprimand was surely on its way for her fault. She needed to wake up. The problem was she had no idea how to do so; she had never dreamed under circumstances like this. She had only heard tales. The protagonist would endure deviously machined nightmares, created with the purpose of destroying the soul, to which the character would suffer. In the end, though, it was said about whom prevailed, that they had found something more valuable than life. Those were works of fiction. But that didn’t remove their inspirational value. She was convinced now. She might be admonished many times in her life, but how many times one has a lucid dream? As the Queen had said: “I can allow myself to have some mildly useful fun.” She headed towards the voices without doubt. She didn’t need to pretend to know anymore.
Chapter 3It’s been some time since enthusiasm wore off. I glance back. I start to despise the long and narrow corridors that have so far led me nowhere. Navigating through the ‘labyrinth’ proved itself easier than I though. Most doors led to empty rooms, making it a mostly straightforward journey. Numbingly dull, yes, but it was hard to get lost. You could only go forward or backwards along the main path, everything else was a dead end. Yet, I didn’t find trace of the odd one I had found before. I had no way to ask him for his motives to fear me. He might have known the way out, or he could possibly be a stray that was as clueless as I. Either way, I’ll never know. I suppose if I’m navigating a fabricated reality, there is no guarantee of continuity and logic. I am still considering other possibilities. That only because I’m frequently amazed by the detail and congruency of the place. I found myself keeping a mental map having both general arrangement and small random details I came across. If my memory were to be trusted right now, I could affirm there were no inconsistencies. I checked. Twice. Doors, halls, stairs, pebbles, tiles, wall cracks, ceiling imperfections, anything I could remember, was in place the moment I checked again. The murmurs weren’t that predictable, though. I think that was the reason maps came to my mind in the first place. They would sound from different directions each time they happened, and they wouldn’t last long. Frustrating. It was eerie too. I had no reason to believe it, but it felt like I was the subject of discussion. I have to admit. Part of me couldn’t avoid to beam of joy with that prospect. It was something I missed from the time I had spent with pony society: recognition. Of course we were rewarded for outstanding work here in the hive, from time to time. But it wasn't the heartwarming appreciation I had found outside. It was intoxicating. That so, I discovered it poisonous to our society. At least for those who are vulnerable, like me. I only will say I had a small incident with authority. I spent years without fulfilling my so called ‘purpose’ as an information gatherer as ‘precautionary’ measure. I can say being a janitor in changeling society is not rewarding, but it let me reappraise my kind. It is said you won’t truly know home until you go outside and back again. I found it true. Something I can’t conceive is how changelings could work incessantly with so few rewarding and punishment. When I was young, I took it for granted, like if it was something that always had to be. To my surprise, it wasn’t a law of nature. Ponies, and many other species I was able to met, seem to need consistently some kind of social glue to work properly, despite their inherent ability to bond. It’s a conundrum. I think I will never understand that. To be fair, I’m finding this little adventure boring. Chasing some voice through countless empty rooms and passages has been of little value. I have no idea why I'm doing this anymore. Fate? Just as I question destiny, a questionably fortunate event happens. “Well, it is settled then. I’m glad we reached an agreement,” I hear a mere three rooms ahead. It is a female voice I don’t recognize. She speaks loud enough, firm but not condescending. “Even if it is impossible for things to end well for everyone.” I hear no reply afterwards. Why all of all things, no answer? That’s one of the things that drives me mad, incomplete information. I’m here debating internally. I know I should not care. But for some reason, I can’t bring myself to walk ahead. I want to know, but not. No. I want to not know my ignorance. Yet, I’m desperate to hear the whole story. Even if it is only morbid curiosity. I mean, I can walk upon and say, “Good day, I was just passing by, and happened to overhear something about tragic consequences, may I know the details?” I doubt it will be well received, but since this might be some figments of imagination, I may get a complete different response. I suppose- “You may come in,” she says. “Yes, you little one, just outside the door.” I obliged. I had no choice as she had discovered me and I really wanted to know. I cannot shake a small feeling of fear. She might have been seeing me ever since stepping out the damned door. I think I hate doors now. And while I’m disliking its particularities as an object, what annoys me the most it’s that you cannot know what lies beyond without entangling yourself with whatever lies beyond. The entrance is guarded by one of those miserable planks of wood. This one, though, seems to be in a much better condition than any other I had seen before. It has its white paint in pristine condition. It makes me wonder what color had been the other doors, if they had been painted at some point in time anyways. “You have been looking forward to reach this place, isn’t it?” she reminds me. “If you allow me give a word of advice, I think it’s better to not postpone further, you never know when one longs for time lost.” I just realize I had stood outside of the room lost in my thoughts far longer than I intended. I push it open, feeling little resistance, to reveal a tall room I can only describe as a bedroom, sans the bed. It was like an small office, mixed with apparently personal objects. I see a chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Almost below the chandelier there is a huge red couch lying in front of an unlit chimney. From other side of the room a showcase displays several artifacts I’m unsure of their nature. There are lots of papers and books distributed along some furniture. What surprises me the most is that there are windows. They are open and their stained glass lets in cold air from an apparently moonless night. “Welcome,” she says from a corner hidden by a humongous cupboard. “I’m sorry to ask you, but could you clean your hooves in the doormat? It’s been raining as of lately.” I’m confused, but nonetheless I stare down my hooves. To my surprise, they covered with somewhat dry mud. I see back towards the door. The labyrinth hallways are gone, replaced by a nighttime prairie. This has to be a dream. I use the doormat and close the door. “Please take a seat, I’ll be there soon,” she says. I notice there is an small purple couch just next to me. I took seat and wait for the mysterious voice. I hear the sound of glass clattering. I turn towards the corner and see a golden aura holding some tableware. I think I died a bit when I saw the color of the levitation spell. It could not be one of us. Such colored magic was almost exclusive to ponies. What was a pony doing here? My face remains calm while a small table is pulled to the middle of the room. I smell cinnamon. A tall white figure finally cames from behind the furniture. She holds a teapot and two cups within her magical grasp. Expectedly, she is a pony. Surprisingly, she has both horn and wings. “Excuse my lateness, I had a visitor just before you. I didn’t expect you to come this early.”
Chapter 4 I stare at her violet eyes. They are not currently watching me, but I know she is inspecting me; dissecting every single piece of evidence I may unwittingly present. Of what, I don’t know. She is pouring the infusion in teacup. “Want some tea?” she asks. I notice that she moves a platter from behind her. She puts it in a small table between us. I’m moderately sure the table wasn’t there before. The least I can feel is unease. I hesitate, and she seems to notice. After briefly looking at me, she places the steaming cup in front of her. I do a double take when she adds granulated sugar. “Some might heavily criticize this,“ she says as she takes the other cup and takes a small brown package from the platter. She breaks the little bag and some granulated substance falls on the teacup. I can smell it, it’s coffee. “But I know you wholeheartedly enjoy this kind of concoction.” She lets the teapot’s contents flow into my cup. “Here, the sugar,” she signals me to two sugar bowls on the platter. I pick the one with the cubes. On different circumstances I’d say nothing. I wouldn’t even accept anything. I know I shouldn't, but this mare already knows me far more than I know her. ...that is, if she is who she seems to be. If not, well, she deserves some praise; she has bested changelings in their own game. “Thanks,” I say. “You are welcome,” I hear her saying, but I’m averting her eyes. “I know you are anxious for answers, but shall we start by another topic?” I’m unsure what to do. I face her again, bring my cup up and drink from it; hopefully buying me some time. The flavor is amazing, I hadn’t tasted something close in likeness in a long time. “It is not cassia, if you are wondering. I enjoy the softness of the Ceylon variety,“ she says while blinking one eye. I do not like that. I have to cooperate in anyways. I doubt staying silent would do any good. “B-By chance have you met Carmine Fennel?” I manage to blurt out. “No; I believe not,” she says. I don’t know if I should take her word. “Who is him?” she asks. “He… was the most talented pony at making any kind of beverage, as far as I know” I point out. “I met him in a famed Canterlot café. I was… disguised as a waitress. He was really humble in spite of his status. He would usually offer some free ‘requests’ at the end of the working hours to his co-workers. “I always said no, until some day he insisted me: «If you don’t accept, I won’t take your customers’ orders anymore.» “I told him, «Alright, I only want a coffee, simple, with no dairy products, no more than three ingredients. One coffee that tastes as much as pure grain and water as you can possibly bring yourself to make.» He didn’t object. “I was surprised when he brought me a mug only three minutes after. It steamed a wonderful fragrance. «Here, picky customer, your simple drink in a lackluster receipt,» he said.” I pause. The coffee I’m holding is undeniably similar. “I took a sip. The mug was empty not a minute after. To say it was good it’s a gross underestimation,” I abruptly finish my story. She holds a smile I can’t decide if mischievous or grateful. Ever slowly, she levitates her cup away from the table while pulling out a handkerchief. I didn’t notice the moment she finished. She briefly looks at the window before talking. "How should I address you, my dear guest? It’s rather cumbersome to speak impersonally." "Ananke," I say absentmindedly. Uh oh. I feel the need to punch myself. I guess I shouldn't have said that. At least I can salvage something from the slip. "Who are you? I mean, I know who you resemble, but I sincerely doubt a pony princess would have business with a common changeling." Yes, certainly. "It depends," she says casually. That's cheating and she knows it. "But... you might call me Celestia, given the circumstances, as I'm going to be the only Celestia you will find here. Even though I'm not the one you have heard of." "I suppose that's good enough." I say as silence engulfs the room for what could have been minutes. “Frankly, I expected a much less cooperative talk. You have done well, I won’t impatient you longer,” she says. "That is, if you don’t want me to engage in pointless banter." I let the question linger in the air with an unsaid 'No thanks.' She seems to acknowledge my response. “You see, everything here is not completely real.” She points to the window, where one could see the night, vividly. “Come, see.” She approaches the window, and I follow cautiously. She places her hoof below its arch, it takes me a second to understand she was telling me to look outside. I realize it is not the scenery of an usual night. The landscape looks barren and monotone. The bright ivory ground contrasts with a profoundly black sky. Despite the encompassing darkness, there are uncountably many stars on it. Any night sky I had ever seen paled in detail to this one. I follow the horizon and find a blue halo peeking over its leftmost side. It is moving along a curved trajectory, advancing more horizontally than vertically, towards the center. About one third from reaching the middle, I can finally see its shape. It is a familiar, yet alien sight. I see a disk, or rather a sphere, sporting a mix between blues, greens, yellows and whites. A shape I recognize from maps is imprinted on it: Equestria. It meant the disk was Equus. And here… was the Moon? What was she implying when she said everything here wasn’t completely real? “The sight you are seeing is real and present, but our bodies aren’t here in reality,” she answers, as if knowing my thoughts. “Neither this house.” I ponder if what she says is true. I see so much detail, and I seem to be perfectly conscious that I find it easy to believe it. It still sounds far-fetched, though— “Careful, you might burn yourself with that tea,” Celestia breaks my stupor with her warning. I notice I’m still holding my tea, but I have dripped some on the floor. A shame, it was delicious. “What is this place?” I ask. “That is a hard question to answer. The most succinct explanation would be a magical matrix, not unlike dreamscapes, with elements similar to those of changeling collective minds that is anchored by powerful artifacts that could be technically classified as golems.” I don’t know the specifics of most advanced magic, but I have learnt enough to have some insight. “So there is something in the moon which shares this view with our minds?” I say. She nods. Interesting. “And then this is created by somepony dreaming?” I circle my limb towards the room. “Not particularly. It can be formed at will from one’s mind. Sufficiently strong fingments may provoke a memory effect.” She flinched, as if predicting where my train of thought was leading. “So thus far I have been traversing spaces forged by the collective imagination of the many that have been here, including mine and yours? Am I still where I physically ‘left’?” “Yes. Most likely,” she said, answering both questions. I will cross the line with the next question, but I deem it necessary. “You said this place has elements of changeling magic. Can you pry into my thoughts? If true, since when does ponies have access to changeling knowledge?” She pauses, but never drops that smile I'm starting to despise. "If I were to answer that first question, would I change your opinion anyways?" she says. She is right; even if the way she replies disturbs me. "You would be surprised how old is that knowledge," she adds. "It was there even before I was born, and I am really old." "Why are you telling me this?" I say. "Because without a proper introduction, you would disregard what I need to tell you." She closes her eyes and a purple mist forms just in front of her. I step back in anticipation. I'm ready to run if needed. But if what she said is true, it will be of no use. The mist takes an equine shape. Her horn lits in a golden aura which coalesces with the mist. It takes a solid appearance, mist becoming black chunks of something; it is being sewed in the air. She finishes faster than I expected, and I cannot believe it. She holds 'it' within her telekinesis. A creature that resembles perfectly one of my kind. "Before you ask, no, it has no true sentience, its existence is currently pegged to mine," she says. "I would rather ask you something, if you don't mind?" My curiosity is overwhelming my common sense, I have never seen magic like that. I need to know, I must. No. This must be her trap, being friendly until the time she has my trust and bestows a temptation upon me. It has to be. No, I won’t reveal anything. "What kind of question you say?" Her smile brightems. "Oh, just wondering if you want a crash course on how magic works here, so you learn how to question the place itself. "You see, this place is literally forged from thoughts and feelings, as I just exemplified."
