Tea was rare in those parts, and full of moths if it did show up by way of a wandering merchant. It was a shame, because the water was quite good. It seeped out of cracks in the ground, the source far enough from the diamond dogs’ mine to escape their dirty paws.
The cottage was built of stones and mortar; worthless stones at the time, bearing tiny flakes of gold and hairline veins of jade, and glittering ruby grains too small to cut. Built on stubborn bedrock without a cellar, with slate floors glued with…
“Chrissy, let me in!”
She knocked on the door again, but Chrysalis had all her weight on it from the inside. The sink was trickling gently, not nearly enough to mask the sound of spitting and aggressive brushing.
“No…”
The door shook when Chrysalis jumped up in alarm.
“No! NO! NO!”
Water splashed loudly on the floor and the walls. The little faucet squeaked.
“Chrissy! Let me in!”
Sobbing.
She tackled the door again to no avail.
Cloudy water seeped out from beneath the door, wetting her fetlocks. In it floated green marbles, some small as wild blueberries and some as big as table grapes.
“Chrissy! Open the door!”
Few crops grew in the rocky ground. Enough grass for a few families, some wild figs and twisted tubers. Nothing that could feed a town, and so there wasn't one within a day's walk.
The kettle was just starting to whistle when it was removed from the hearth by a chestnut colt with a blond mane. He glances nervously at the couch where the old mare slept.
She made a stew that night. It could sit on the fire for hours if need be, so she could sit in the hall with her lantern.
Chrysalis would not talk to her. No light came through the crack beneath the door.
“Chrissy,” she said in a worn-out tone. “Whatever it is, please say something.”
The smell from the ground floor reminded her that she was hungry. Surely Chrysalis was hungry too.
Another hour passed. She could hear gentle breathing from inside, but that was no comfort at all. Finally she went down the stairs.
The soup had become mush, and the fire had made the room much too hot. She took her bowl outside and sat down beside the shallow basin where spring water gathered before disappearing again into cracks in the rock.
She thought she saw searchlights to the south; diamond dogs prowling the border. They were looking for ponies to take to their mine. Sometimes they were bold enough to break down doors and take ponies out of their beds.
It happened to Star Sigil, who went out to cut grass one afternoon and never came back. Star Sigil, who left behind an impossibly small hole in the rocky ground, and had not been seen for fifteen years.
Star Sigil from Canterlot (or so he said), who came to the border looking for something, and found it, and was happy for a long time. Star Sigil, who had a beautiful daughter.
The lights flashed and faded. She could feel the vibrations through the earth as the diamond dogs returned to their wretched holes.
The lantern flickered, reminding her that it was late. She washed up outside and checked on the bathroom one last time. The water had dried, but the strange green substance remained. It had formed hardened droplets resembling green amber, and felt like cool glass on her hooves. Chrysalis was still lying against the door; asleep, judging by her breathing.
She returned to her small room on the first floor. There was no shortage of rooms in a house that once served as a makeshift barrack, but she could not bear to sleep in the big bed she once shared.
She thought the night was through when tentative footsteps came down the stairs, but the sky outside her window was lit only by stars. A steady green light passed over the floor outside her room; Chrysalis’ magic, yet somehow it looked different.
“Chrissy?” She called sleepily. “Are you alright?”
A most unnerving sound answered her; like a giant dragonfly trapped in a jar. Then a wet hiss. The light spun and flickered.
The locks rattled and came undone, and nervous hooves raced into the night.
A blue and white colt looked out the window expectantly before opening the dusty cookbook.
“Chrissy!”
Nothing stirred in the house. The night wind whispered through the open front door.
Slowly she got out of bed. Only one thing was on her mind.
The kitchen looked as it should. Nothing was missing. As she shined her candle across the floor, she noticed a few glistening green beads. In some places the stone had become iridescent like fish scales.
She went upstairs cautiously, with her ears perked. She scarce dared to breathe.
The bathroom door was ajar, and the floor was still glistening. Hardened flows of the green substance ran down the outside of the sink; the inside was fully glazed, and the drain might as well have been cemented.
Hidden behind the toilet was something black and shiny. She backed away instinctively, for it looked like a mass of insects. But when nothing moved, she lowered the candled and leaned in closer.
They were bug parts as far as she could tell, but belonging to a monstrous bug. The piece which she picked up was too light to be ceramic, though it was sturdy enough. A metallic-smelling green gel covered its concave side.
She called out one last time, but again there was no answer. She kept listening for movement as she sat on the damp floor and tried to piece together the cryptic object.
The truth came to her all at once. She gasped and jumped up from the finished shape.
Half a black skeletal face glared at her; the left half, complete with one sharp fang of the upper jaw.
Bang!
The colt with the book jumped almost to the ceiling. His companion was rolling on the floor, the empty burlap sack in his hoof dusting everything with flour.
The old mare snorted and woke up. A smile curled her wrinkled lips.
The colts looked at her apologetically.
She did not remember falling asleep. Perhaps she had fainted on her way downstairs.
A thorough search of the house revealed that Chrysalis was indeed gone. Only a few dried drops of green blood marked the general direction of her flight.
It took her all morning to work up the courage to go into the green bedroom. Her heart ached when she saw the bed perfectly made, and all the charts and posters still on the wall. Even the vase had been emptied and rinsed. The ancient black wardrobe sat open, with only a single jacket missing. Of course it was the dark blue one with green embroidered grapes. The one from her trip to Canterlot just last month, when she interviewed for the academy of magic there.
She cried in the middle of the room, not daring to touch anything. It all seemed sacred to her. She had not eaten anything since the night before, and at that moment she would have been happy to never eat again.
Flashes of hatred and rage punctuated her grief. In her mind’s eye she saw those critical moments which she had missed fourteen years ago. A swaddled foal in a crib beside her own bed. An invisible egg in a dark corner; it must have been there for months, waiting for an opportunity. How had she missed it? A hideous, slimy thing slithering across the floor, through the bars...
She rocked back and forth, biting her hooves. She wanted to destroy the room; to burn the house. It was a cruel trick. She tried to picture Chrysalis as she truly was: a simple monster, a killer of infants before anything else. Yet in her mind was only a lovely young unicorn with a wavy white mane and innocent blue eyes and a contagious smile.
When her tears had run out, a plan was already half formed in her mind. Where would a pony go in a place so remote? A changeling especially? The few old friends she had would be no help, and it took two days to reach the nearest town. She couldn’t stay in any inn, and if she somehow got a carriage, where would she go then? Not to Canterlot, or any other city if she valued her life.
The soup had become a greenish paste that tasted like the cast iron cauldron that contained it. She added some water and brought it to a boil. She ate enough to regain her strength, without so much as a grimace. Wearing a long hooded cloak (with the mind to offer it to Chrysalis if she would take it), she set out in the dusty mid afternoon.
The trail of blood did not run out completely for some time. Horrifying though it was, she gleaned some hope from this sign. Perhaps Chrysalis wanted to be found.
Long after the last green stain she came to a wall of red stone. She was much too close to the border; past it already, maybe. She turned back then and looked for her house, but could not see it.
Stripping some leaves and unripe figs off a twisted little tree, she began searching for a way up. The wall stretched for miles to either side. There were plenty of footholds, but all were uncomfortably narrow. Had she been a goat she would have found the climb all too easy.
With the cloak rolled and tied like a sash she pulled herself onto the first ledge. She thought herself strong, but the wall was nothing like the flat rocky ground she was used to. When she leaned as close to the wall as she could, with four hooves on a feature smaller than a stool, she did not know which way to look. Daylight was fading quickly, and she had a hard climb either way.
Her next move was up to a cracked ledge. When she had both front hooves on it the edge crumbled suddenly. The baseball-sized stone struck her left eye, and she nearly fell. Her shoulders cramped, and there was no room to stretch.
“Chrysalis!” She yelled desperately. “Chrysalis! Come back! I don’t care what you look like, just come back!”
There was no answer. She waited on the ledge, wobbling precariously. When she dared look up again she could barely see the next step.
The sky grew ever darker. Her peripheral vision was filled with imaginary movement and swirls of colour.
Why here? she wondered in a fleeting moment of clarity. Chrysalis could be anywhere. Why climb at all?
Yet something compelled her to continue. Something more than inertia, less than a sure prize, and enough to draw her ever higher on an invisible string.
She did not recognize the top until she leaned into the wall and fell on her face instead. For some time she stayed down, breathing deeply the grit and dust. Her muscles twitched in exhaustion. Whatever she might find on the ridge, she was sure to stay until the next day.
She was surprised to see flickering lights when she opened her eyes. The opposite side of the peak was a comfortable distance away, though it looked to be another cliff. Only small thorny bushes grew in the thin dry soil, and she was thirsty.
At first she thought it was a rattlesnake, but the noise was too deep and too loud. She sat up and drew in her shoulders. The bushes were all dark, and there were worse things than snakes out here.
Something coughed a throaty cough. A bush near the other cliff rustled, and then whimpered.
“Chrysalis?”
It forced its way deeper into the tangle of stiff branches and long thorns, and hissed like an angry cat. It was entirely black, except for two glowing blue eyes which it desperately tried to hide.
She sat down just short of the thorns and peered in. Not far away there were torches. She could see the shaggy black shapes moving about, stout as trees or small and twisted like bramble.
“Chrysalis, come here.”
Her daughter had always been an obedient child, eager to please, and it had been many years since she used that tone of voice. It seemed to sooth her, however, because the glistening black shape stopped moving.
Slowly its two forelimbs were lowered, and its neck straightened. There were the blue eyes again, without pupils or irises yet clearly not blind. Two stiff black horns instead of ears, and lips that were also teeth.
The left half of its face was a shriveled mass of floppy flesh in hues of white and green; a worm made of smaller worms.
“Chrysalis,” she said, offering her hoof. “My daughter. Come home with me.”
Its face emerged hesitantly. Its shell was scratched all over, devoid of much of its luster. It opened its slimy mouth. Big glands on the inside of its cheeks secreted the shiny green substance, which dripped constantly from its angular chin.
She could feel its anguish as it stared into her eyes. Chrysalis wanted to cry, but had no tears. She wanted to speak, but had no lips. She was thirsty and hungry, but her mouth no longer led to a stomach.
“Come home with me,” Marilla urged again. “Chrysalis, this doesn’t change anything. You are my daughter.”
It looked at her for a long time, never blinking. Then it smashed its face against the ground and screeched in agony. It dug its hooves into its damaged face and pulled at its own shell. If only she could break it all off! Surely she would be Chrysalis again, with soft coat and long mane, and eyes that could cry and blink and frown!
Marilla clamped her hooves around her daughter, holding her arms at her side. Chrysalis screamed and flailed with the last of her strength. She expected to be cast off the cliff and into the waiting arms of the diamond dogs. But it did not happen.
They lay together, Marilla bearing the uneven stones on her back without complaint. She nuzzled her vaguely pony-shaped daughter. The plates of her shell pinched her. Instead of a coat she was covered in tiny barbs. But Marilla did not loosen her grip.
Chrysalis relaxed at last. Through her tears Marilla saw the green aura from the night before. Not just on her horn now, it radiated from every inch of her body.
Chrysalis pushed her chest gently, and Marilla loosened her grip. Her face was whole again, and in another instant she was consumed in green flames.
She heard her sobbing before her eyes recovered, joyous and devastating.
“Boys! come here!”
The colts scampered to the spare room so quickly that they risked crashing through the big window.
A grey mare approached the house with two big straw baskets on her back. She was tall and slender, but seemed glowing with health. Her mane was tied with a green ribbon, and her tail was braided neatly.
Beside her walked a shorter pony. An earth pony stallion with shifty eyes and a scruffy beard. He looked like an uncultured drunk, but Marilla had learned long ago that looks could be deceiving.
The colts threw open the door and ran to greet the newcomers. Chrysalis picked them up with her magic and placed them on top of the baskets, where they immediately started digging through the abundance of fresh vegetables and sweet treats, and fine tea from distant places.
“Mum, I made something just for you!”
