He hadn’t meant to scare the child. Honest.
His mouth hung open, fangs still bared, dripping with green venom. Translucent blue eyes lay fixed on the foal’s petrified form.
‘He knows who you are’
The dying grass crunched under his hoof as he stepped forward.
‘He knows what you are’
Whimpering, the foal cowered into a ball, pressing against the wide trunk of the mighty tree.
‘You know what happens when they know too much’
He ignored the tears streaking down his prey’s face, the eyes staring up at him in fear, reflecting the bright moon.
“Please…” He whispered. “Mr. Amaryllis, please…”
He stopped.
Amaryllis. Yes, that was his name now. The name he had chosen, not received. It was a flower. A beautiful flower, with long soft petals, and such an enticing scent.
Unbidden, the memory of when he first saw one surfaced. The trees and grass were brown and withering, slowly being claimed by the oncoming winter. But in a small patch of brown earth, there were three tall flowers, blooming brilliantly white, with red staining the edges of the petals. As the forest had begun to slip into slumber, these flowers had bloomed, mere weeks before the chill would claim them.
It seemed such an oddity to him, to purposefully wait until most had left to try to take in the water and sustenance needed, with so little time left.
He had tried to take the flower home, but was forbidden to. They were not ponies, they could not eat flowers. If it couldn’t be consumed, it wasn’t worth the effort.
The foal sniffled.
He stared at the foal again. Soft, white fur covered his body and face, the tips of his ears and nose tinged with pink.
Slowly, he brought his hoof up from the ground, looking at it.
Black, shining like reflection of a deep pond. Holes peppered his foreleg, gaping and open as if he were some malnourished weed.
He shivered. He felt cold.
Mr. Amaryllis backed away from the tree. The foal looked up, still frightened.
He hadn’t meant to scare him. The child shouldn’t have been out this late, regardless who he might have seen trotting past his window.
His eyes met the foal’s. Those same eyes that he had seen countless times across his counter, once bright and filled with joy, now trembled and exuded fear.
He lowered his head, closing his eyes. He had just wanted to feel the grass on his own hooves. Feel the wind against his own skin. It was a short walk to the small clearing behind the large oak on the edge of the park where ponies didn’t venture at night.
Then there had been a noise behind him. A sound that caused his instinct to react, in it’s snarling animalistic barbarity.
He hadn’t meant to scare the child…
A deep sigh rasped through his throat as he fell back into a sitting position. The foal blinked as the pony’s form flashed, and the familiar teal coat of Mr. Amaryllis sat before him.
Amaryllis looked up, opening his mouth to speak, but no words came to him. The foal was still huddled close to the tree trunk, eyes transfixed on him. He might have been able to navigate this minefield with a stallion or a mare, an older pony who could see logic and reason if they thought to look past their prejudices. But a foal? They were a mystery to him, the way their minds made connections regardless of how contrived, the nonsensical stories they were able to fabricate, he could not see reason in it. He could not fathom how to speak to such a young mind about a subject so delicate as his true nature when he understood so little about the foal.
“Are you a carnivus plant?”
He blinked. His voice had been hushed, but not a whisper, as if he were cautious of being too loud. Amaryllis assumed the foal had meant “carnivorous,” and wondered how on earth such a question was at all relevant to what was happening now.
“No,” He began slowly. “I am not a carnivorous plant. Why would you think that?”
The foal lifted their head, slowly wiping away tears. He noticed he had stopped trembling, though was still tensed. “You were gonna eat me. But then you didn’t, and you had green stuff in your mouth.”
“Having green somewhere on the body does not mean it’s a plant.” He stated, furrowing his brow. “You’ve seen other ponies with green fur and green manes, do you think they are plants?”
There was silence for a moment. He sighed. “I am not a plant. I am a changeling. Do you know what that is?”
The foal nodded after taking a second to remember. “They tried to take over Canterlot, but Princess Cadence beat them away with love.”
Amaryllis grimaced, but nodded. “What else do you know about them?”
“The Royal Guard told us they can change and look like any other ponies.”
He nodded. “Yes, we can change our appearance at will. It’s necessary for us to survive.”
Tilting his head slightly, the foal asked, “Why?”
“Because we do not eat like ponies, flowers and hay and grass.” He turned his head away. “Changelings feed off love.” He felt a burning in his body, shame at being laid bare.
“How?”
He looked back at the foal, arching an eyebrow. “How…?” His voice trailed off.
The foal nodded, shifting to lay more comfortably in the grass. “How do you eat love?”
He stared, struck dumb at the question. He had never really thought to question how he managed to feed of the love ponies gave, it was just a fact of his life, something that would never be changed.
“Uh…” He stammered, trying to think over the times he had fed and what he had done to start the process of feeding. “Well, I…”
Silence continued for minutes. An owl hoot sounded from the tree above them.
“How do you breathe?” He finally responded.
The foal looked quizzically at him. “Breathe?”
He nodded. “Yes, explain to me how you breathe.”
The foal’s puzzled expression turned to one of concentration. “Um, I breath by… by making air, um…” He took a very deep breath, held it a few moments, then let it out in a short burst.
After a few more stutters and half-sentences, the foal looked up at Amaryllis with a helpless expression. “I don’t know, I just breathe.”
“And I just feed.” He nodded, feeling satisfied at having proven his point. “It is something that has been ingrained into me for so long, I cannot think of how to describe it. Ponies breathe and changelings-” He paused. “Changelings steal and eat love.” His words were bitter and hollow, reminding him of his nature. “It’s why we need to disguise ourselves. So ponies will love us and give us food so we can steal another week of survival.” He cast his gaze to a wilting flower. A lily. He might have chuckled at the bittersweet coincidence.
The flower that waited until there was almost no time left, just to be different. Forgoing gaining it’s nutrients with the rest of it’s plant like family, just to stand out against them. How unbelievably stupid, going against the masses just to be different.
“Can you still eat love if you’re a black bug?”
He scoffed. “The ponies will not love me in my true form. Once they learn what I am, they will capture me and turn me over to the Princesses. Ponies will not love a monster.”
The foal was silent a while longer. “Some ponies love your ugly plants that eat bugs.” He stated. “And some ponies have awful and mean little dogs and cats, but they still love them, and other ponies love them too, sometimes.”
Amaryllis stared at nothing as he thought. After a moment, he responded. “I am not a plant or a pet. Changelings have done horrible things to ponies, things they will not soon forget.”
“A cow kicked me when I tried to take her bell, but Mom says I shouldn’t be afraid of all cows just because one or a couple were mean.”
Amaryllis stomped his hoof into the earth. “Why are you trying to argue?!” He stood, facing the foal once more. “I am a monster! When the other ponies know it will only be a matter of minutes before they knock down my door and hold me until the guard comes to take me away!” The foal dropped to the ground again, pulling his tail in close. “I almost tried to kill you just to keep my secret safe! I would have killed a foal to preserve the life of a monster! All because-” He saw the foal trembling, eyes wide and frightened.
Something stung his eyes and caused his throat to tighten. Quickly he turned away from the foal and distanced himself. “Because I don’t want to leave.”
Amaryllis was not familiar with crying. It felt painful.
“I don’t want you to leave, either.” He heard from behind him. “I think your flowers are pretty, and you teach me a lot of stuff about them, and other stuff, too.” He heard the patch of grass rustle. “And you’re nice to most ponies, especially Mom. She likes to put your flowers on her windowsill. I think she’d miss you, too.”
Amaryllis glanced at the wilting lily. “She… likes my flowers?”
“Yeah, lots of ponies do.”
The foal waited through the quiet before speaking again. “Just because other changelings are bad doesn’t mean you have to be.”
He stared at the lily. The foolish lily that simply refused to follow the rest of it’s herd and take in nutrients whenever it could, putting itself at risk in doing so. There was so little to be gained from such actions, and everything to lose.
And yet, here it stood. After generations of stupid behavior, the lily still managed to plant its seeds and sprout anew, each year. And it would probably do so again next year, and the year following that.
“You want me to stay?” His voice sounded weak. “Even knowing what I am?”
“Yeah.” The foal replied simply.
“Would you keep my secret?” He said, facing him.
The foal frowned. “If you wanted me to, but I think they’ll love you even if you’re a monster.”
“I do want you to keep it secret.” He said, wiping the moisture from his eyes. “At least for now.” He honestly could not imagine a time when he would be able to reveal his true form to the others, but life had already surprised him with the unpredictable before.
“I’m sorry.” He said suddenly.
The foal tilted his head in confusion.
“For scaring you.” He felt it was important to apologize.
“It’s okay.” The foal said, smiling. He stood up and walked over to Amaryllis, before putting his forelegs around him. “So you’re gonna stay?”
Amaryllis’ muscles tightened as he felt the foal embrace him. He was not expecting forgiveness to come so easily. “Yes.” He said, briefly hugging the foal in return. “I’ll keep selling my flowers and teaching you things about flowers, and not about flowers.”
Stepping back from the foal, he wiped his eyes again. “Now, you should be in bed at this late hour. Go on, before your mother finds out and you worry her again.” He made a shooing motion with his hoof.
The foals face flashed with worry as he quickly turned and started trotting at a fast pace to his home. Amaryllis stood in the small clearing a while longer, feeling the chill in the night air, but also inexplicably warm.
Author's Note
Just another writing prompt. Again, no plans to do anything more with this setting and characters.
