Part: 1
Through The Eyes Of Evil
By: Michael A.
Co-authored by: Scarheart!
“Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”
~ Dylan Thomas, 1914 - 1953
The darkness surrounded a lone figure, accompanied by a strange mist. It trailed about her hooves, swirling with her methodical and slow movements. The air was cool and crisp. There was no wind. The world was calm, but held an unearthly aura. Something amiss, and the visitor could feel it.
Voices. Tiny voices. Hundreds of them. They drifted through the unnatural calm. They were the only thing to pierce the unnerving silence. The cacophony began to grow, becoming louder with each passing second. Within the shroud of mist, the visitor did not like it—she was at first unsure, but as she tilted an ear, she came to know to whom those voices belonged to, or, rather, remembered who they belonged to. She stopped, sensing the fear of what came next. Rather, had.
The area around her shifted, morphing by some unknown entity, until it formed into the old, crumbling hallway. She knew this hallway, having walked it many times before. She took a step, but stopped as a ghostly image of a servant appeared in front and walked through her. A paralyzing fear had overcome her mind, freezing her in place. Something felt badly out of place, yet was still… frighteningly familiar to her. Overcoming her fear with sheer stubbornness, she stood her ground, more ghostly images appeared around her, each a specter of someone who had walked this hallway before her.
There were more than just the voices. To her ears came cries of despair, tearing at her heart. Cries of pain crackled like madness and cries of pure terror shattered the air with ghostly echoes. A forgotten crown lay to the side, bent and disfigured as if to mock her. Where..? Curling a lip, the wandering soul growled, broken from her paralyzing trance long enough to kick it aside in a flare of dying rage. It crumbled as soon as her hoof made contact, causing her to lose her balance and trip slightly.
Nothing…
Her hooves clattered soundlessly as she regained her balance. Breathing was suddenly difficult. A heart deep within the chest pounded, threatening to burst. Turning her head from side to side, studying the hallway around her, wandering thoughts formed. Which way? Which door? Do I dare open one? More than one?
Dread followed in the shadows within the being which was herself. A slow and terrible dawning began to etch itself into being. Her mind contemplated the action, but ultimately decided that the only action she could take would be to open one of the doors. Her decision was not out of impulse or curiosity, but more out of an internal arrow that pointed her in the direction. Her hooves commanded her brain as she began to trot forwards, heading towards the closest door. It commanded her attention, thrumming as something on the other side pulsed with an unnatural life, like a ghostly heart without a body to bleat life into. It drew upon the senses, calling out a name she had begun to hate.
Chrysalis…
The name ran threw her head, causing her to hesitate as she reached for the handle.
“Am I?” It was her voice, yet felt apart. Its origin lay beyond the door she now stood before. Hesitation held her fast and she wondered, with fear, what lay beyond. Her mind fought with an internal struggle as she tried to make her decision. “Am I Chrysalis, or have I become something else?”
The door swung towards her unexpectedly and darkness spilled out like a wave of unbridled terror. The screams upon its waves overcame Chrysalis and the former queen tried to cry out, but her voice held no sound. The waves became tendrils, wrapping around her as laughter burst from deep of what lay beyond that door, the gripping sensation causing pain. Bones threatened to break as she was lifted easily. The Fallen Queen struggled, another cry forming in her throat, yet could not escape from between her fangs. The darkness drew her in and suddenly she knew what lay inside. Her wings— ghostly tatters of their former glory —flared out as she tried with even more effort to escape.
Come see your children!!! Her other half sneered in her head.
She was hauled through the door, her cerulean eyes wide with a terror she had not felt since… since…
“No… No… Nononono!” The words were there, but nothing came forth. They were phantoms of a plea that no one would ever hear.
The air shifted and a chamber formed around the body of the struggling changeling. Those horrid things that had gripped her disappeared as though they had never been. Head hanging low, something felt dreadfully wrong. The spark within sputtered and she struggled to keep it lit. Chrysalis did not want…
Her focus was broken as she heard the little scraping sounds of crawling things about her hooves. Blinking away the inner turmoil, she looked down and found a small creature pressing up against one of her forehooves. The familiarity put a slight smile to her broken lips. Bending further, she nuzzled her child.
She remembered. At first, it was the greatest elation of her life. Her first clutch of eggs!
Chrysalis hefted him wearily with her magic, bringing the little thing to her eye level. She smiled at her child and could hear the others coming. They had smelled their mother. She always came when it was feeding time. They could not know a different hunger was in the room with them that day.
The changeling ran her tongue over her dirty pale grub, settling down upon her stomach and easing her legs beneath her. Her body felt weak, but it was something that she felt that she had to do. More grubs undulated from around the chamber, drawn to their mother’s love. She could feel the need for love given of her. Was there enough? She already knew the answer. It was the challenge that every queen faced for their children, as feeding upon them this young, more than not, would cause them to die.
“No.. No, please. Please! I don’t want to see this!!”
Ah, but there was a choice. A choice that you made. You could have done more. This was your first batch; the first clutch. Was it a false start to your vast kingdom, Chrysalis? Why did you bother when you knew there was not enough love sustain yourself, much less your children? Her other self mocked her, the very one that had been speaking in her mind.
She called out to her children. They came, eagerly. Undeveloped and helpless; completely reliant on their mother’s protection and for sustenance. Their trust was absolute.
Chrysalis picked up the first one with her hooves, the one that had greeted her. Its sightless eyes fixated upon her muzzle as she gave it a nudge. The hunger was great. She had nothing to give. The changeling had searched and searched, but her hunt had ended in failure. Her intended targets had been slain by bandits, the house a burnt ruin.
Her maw opened, fangs gleaming. The child squirmed a little, completely trusting in its mother. A pause. Chrysalis realized what she was doing. She bit down. The grub spasmed, squirmed. It could not cry out, for it had no mouth. Slowly, she drained the love from her child, the poison already numbing its tiny body. There would be no pain. She screamed at herself, yet did not stop. She fed even though she was completely repulsed by her actions. The little body became more and more feeble. Then, nothing.
She set it down gently, with reverence. Horrified as something took over her conscience. Chrysalis tried to stop, but could not. More of her children were coming, expecting to be fed. Instinct drove them towards her and their terrible fate.
“Please… Please go away.” Chrysalis pleaded, knowing fully well how her pleas were in vain.
One by one, a starved shade of a young queen fed upon them. They shriveled as their lives were sucked painlessly through numbing fangs, tears falling upon the still bodies laid about her. Their love for their mother continued until their last breath.
Ah, and this is when I first nested in your little brain. I came to be. I thank you very much for that. Who says recycled love isn’t better the second time around?
Chrysalis didn’t hear the voice, her own blocking out everything as she internally pleaded for her body to stop. She did not drain them all.
Forty-two.
Forty-two children devoured.
Forty-two children murdered.
Forty-two souls sacrificed to appease a dark goddess.
Three remained.
Somehow, she had regained herself. Somehow, she had arranged the little forms into neat rows within the chamber. Mute horror grasped at her soul like a leech. The surviving grubs were on her back, oblivious to what she had just done. She would move them somewhere else. It would not bode well to raise them in a tomb.
The vision faded. Chrysalis was again alone in the foggy hallway. Hot tears streamed down her face as her legs trembled. She had tried to lock that memory away all her life, burying it in the deepest parts of her subconscious.
You assumed it was because you were young and inexperienced. Such a tragic moment for the buddings of a monster. You chose survival over your children, yet they would have died far more horribly if you had tried to keep them alive. A hard choice, one that you hate yourself for… and still fear that it was not the right one to make. Hate and self loathing buried it, but you never confronted it. This explains much. Yet, it is not enough.
The voice wasn’t her own, nor did she recognize it.
Shaking violently, the changeling threw her head up. “I had no choice!” cried Chrysalis. “I did not want to! I loved my children! I cherished my children! I gave my all for my children! I was starving! The hunt was poor! The war had decimated everything! There was no love to be had!” Tears were again saturating her cheeks. “I made a choice! Life or death! I could only save a few. I made their deaths as painless as possible!”
Did you?
“Who are you? Why are you doing this?”
It is not I who is on this journey—I wish to observe for now.
“What do you mean?! What journey? What’s going on?!” Chrysalis cried out in desperation, grasping at the possibility of what was going on.
A few minutes went by without a response, and the unknown entity had gone silent.
“I had laid too many eggs. I had so many hopes and dreams for my family. My hive. I was going to be strong, a good queen, a just queen. We would remain in the shadows, staying away from the more powerful queens, long enough until I could form a proper hive and establish myself. How was I to know the other queens would retaliate by destroying all of my food sources? There was a war among the ponies. The Banishment. Devastation was everywhere. What recourse was there for me? What choice did I have?”
There was always a choice, and always will be. It is the job of the ruler to make those tough choices.
Chrysalis bent her neck and wept.
