Perhaps, someday, they'll see their mistake.
The Changeling sat on the bed in his cell. It was hardly comfortable, little more than just a metal grate suspended from the wall with a lumpy mattress and thin blanket thrown on top, but lying on it and observing the night sky through the barred window on the nearby wall made him feel somewhat peaceful. Everypony who had been involved with the incident was outside, and although he couldn't see them, he could hear them dancing and singing to the songs being played in the street. He didn't know what they were celebrating or why but he would have loved to be involved.
Thinking about it, I honestly can't decide whether or not I deserve what I'm getting.
He sighed, his voice a raspy sort of hiss that converged in the back of his throat and fluctuated around his mouth like a rattlesnake. A guard directly outside his cell hushed him and he frowned, turning his attention back to the window. Sometimes he would see an insect buzz past or some woodland creature skitter along and be able to convince himself that it was one of his kin coming to save him and bring him home, but he knew it was futile. Changelings were the exact polar opposites of loyal and the hive was little more than just another burden he was forced to protect. He had no kin or home, though in equal measure he deserved neither.
... Did I really do all that wrong? Are ponies punished for talking to strangers?
The Changeling hadn't wanted it to be like this. He had fled from his hive, away from his fellow Changelings and his warm home, and come here. Canterlot had been so interesting at the time of the invasion, he simply had to return. And now here he was, balancing on a fine line between his dreams and his nightmares. He lay his back down on the bed and tried to get comfortable, but never took his eyes off of the cell window in the blind hope that another should come to his rescue. As he tried to allow sleep embrace him and pull him through the night he reflected on how he had managed to kill himself.
Approaching the city had been easy after burrowing out from the hive thanks to his wings, but in a foolish hope that ponies held empathy for other creatures had forgotten to transform before approaching the first one he saw. It had been a mare, he remembered, with gorgeous eyes and an admirable flowing mane. He had trotted up to her and extended a hoof in friendship, but she just screamed and called for help. The Changeling recalled that he had tried to reassure her but had been subdued and hoofcuffed by guards within moments of her distress call, and now here he was.
I... I suppose my species are all monsters at heart. Even me, whether I like it or not.
For a moment he considered that the ponies might forgive him, welcome him with open arms, let him walk amongst them even. But that was impossible; he was a hunter and they were the hunted, and no amount of willpower could change that. Nothing ever changes, he considered, merely deceives. Changelings could change forms, but underneath they were all still monsters, creatures hell-bent on consuming the weak and converting the strong. With a slight whimper he looked down at the wounds left on his body from the guards attack, still bruised and moist with blood. They told him everything he needed to know.
I didn't even fight back. How could they think it was fair to do this?
He knew what he could do. He could easily transform into a rabbit or something to get through the cell gates, turn back and kill the guards and be out in a matter of minutes. But he knew that he couldn't bring himself to. The invasion on Canterlot by his race had not only led him to respect ponies but almost love them as his own, to such an extent that he was somewhat glad his Queen had failed. He wanted so desperately to be loved by them in his heart, but his mind knew that the idea of a Changeling being accepted was absurd.
I'm a monster, same as all the others. I never deserved friendship.
A single tear escaped the Changeling's eye as his eyelids drifted shut and the night closed around his mind, carrying him off to a world in which he could be accepted. A world in which he could be loved for who he had become, not who he was.
Wasn't that what all ponies did?
***
The following morning he was awoken from his slumber and dragged out onto a stage outside, led forward and stood just above crowds of pegasi, unicorns and earth ponies of all colours and breeds. He looked amongst all of them and smiled for the first time in his life. Oh, ponies, such a diverse and interesting race. A twinge of emotion flickered deep down within him and he couldn't help but picture himself standing amongst them, one with them. The executioner, a unicorn donned in a black hood concealing his face, nudged him towards a block.
They stood him directly in front of the block before the executioner spoke suddenly and sharply.
"So, scum," He positively spat, "Any final words?"
The Changeling nodded after a moment and spoke up, trying to ignore his raspy tone. He had been born with it, yet he was hated for it.
"I... Just want to say..." He said simply, "... That I'm sorry."
Of course, nopony knew what it had meant as he was placed down on the block and took in his very last breath of air.
... The sky sure is beautiful today.
The axe fell with a sharp thud and suddenly his heart didn't throb so much anymore.
