Hello. My name is Lavender and I'm half-pony, half-Changeling. I know – weird, right? My mother, Spring, was a Changeling drone. I never knew the name of my father, but I do know that he was a pony of Equestria. As you may have guessed already, love between a pony and a Changeling is forbidden, at least in the Hive it is.
Queen Thysanura, monarch of the Changeling Hive, was furious when she found out about my parents. She had my mother executed in front of the entire Hive – well, most of it; I don't know where the queen's daughters were that day. It was the worst day of my life; I can still remember and see it like it was yesterday. Marigold and I had to watch, trapped in a magic cage, as Queen Thysanura blasted Mother to dust with a simple destruction spell. That was it for Spring. BOOM, and then she was gone, a pile of gray ashes. I was just a little filly back then. I can't recall how long I spent crying. It felt like days, days of salty tears that spilled from my eyes.
I would not have recovered if it weren't for my twin sister, Marigold. She is a half-Changeling, half-pony, like me. Or rather, she was. She's not here anymore. I'll tell you about her later.
Right after my mother was killed, the queen hunted down my father. After they had me, he had left my mother for another mare, a pony mare, in Equestria. Queen Thysanura found him and murdered him personally. I wasn't too sad, mostly because I had never known him. I'm still angry at him for leaving Mother and Marigold and me alone, however.
This is what I had been told about my father. I don't know if all of it is true. But I do have one early memory of him and my mother together.
Here it is.
"Aren't they the cutest little things?"
A warm, loving voice was the first thing I ever heard. My eyes were still closed, so all I could see was darkness, but my hearing was exceptionally sharp, even back then. I instantly recognized the voice of my mother, Spring. I could feel my twin sister squirming next to me.
"They look like you and not me," said a grumpy-sounding voice. My pony father. "And tell me again, why did they hatch from an egg?"
"Oh, hush," Spring chided. I felt something soft and warm wrap around me. "They have your mane and tail, at least. What lovely shades of purple and gold! And their little violet and amber wings . . . they're beautiful!"
"Hmph." I could feel the disapproval radiating from my father. "What are we going to name them?"
"Something simple, I guess," Mother said thoughtfully, running a hoof across my wings.
It tickled. I squeaked and slowly opened my eyes. My vision was fuzzy, and I blinked a few times to clear it. Mother's face appeared over me, smiling down at me. She had the loveliest blue eyes. Father, on the other side, did not look as warm as she did. My sister, next to me, already had her eyes open. She flashed her fangs at me in a friendly way.
"Oh, look! Look, our other little darling has opened her eyes!" Spring squealed, her smile widening. "She even has your purple eyes!"
"Hmph," my father said again. "I want pony names for them."
Mother snorted and rolled her eyes. "One of those snobby city names from where you come from – Canterlot, was it? No way," she argued. "I don't want our daughters to grow up with those. Forget it."
"If you're so sure, then why don't you name them?" Father snapped.
"I will!" Mother stroked my damp mane and levitated a bit of eggshell from my black chitin coat, then did the same for my twin. "I think you'll be . . . Lavender," she said, beaming happily. "And you will be Marigold. Our precious little blossoms."
That's it. Father was always a grumpy stallion. I really have no idea why Mother fell for him in the first place. Shouldn't the one you marry be someone you want to spend your life with? Not someone who would leave you in the blink of an eye?
Do you want to hear my story? I am assuming yes.
Well, here we go. This is my tale and part of Marigold's: Lavender's Story.
1. A (Normal?) Day In My Life
Rain slashed from the rolling, dark gray clouds in the sky, soaking the ground and everything around me. I lifted a hoof to push my thick, wet mane out of my eyes and looked at my surroundings. I was standing in the middle of a grand city, filled with beautiful buildings and spires that touched the stormclouds high above. The sight would have been more enjoyable if it had lacked one thing: ponies.
Despite the pounding rainstorm, countless Equestrian ponies crowded the street where I stood, keeping a safe distance away. The mobs scared me, but not as much as the accusingly furious expressions on all of their unrecognizable faces. They pressed in all around me, all staring at me with the same glares. Flaming hatred radiated from them, so strong and vile that it made my chest hurt. One pony – a unicorn, I think – even had the nerve to lean in and slap a hoof across my face. I froze.
"Go back to the Wastelands where you belong, Changeling," he snarled at me, striking me again. For some reason, he looked vaguely familiar. Those bright amber eyes, that golden-orange mane, the light green coat . . . where had I seen those features before? I was sure that I knew him, but I couldn't pin the thought down. It was gone, whisked away by the unicorn's next words: "Why are you here? Stay away from us! Stay away from Equestria!"
"B-But what have I done?" I protested. Tears started to form in my eyes, and my cheek stung with the red marks of two hard, merciless slaps. "Why can't I be here? What did I ever do to you? To Equestria?!"
"You're a Changeling, and all of you no-good bugs are evil," growled an older unicorn mare, her voice filled with cold malice. Elaborately styled curls of gray mane were piled atop her head, held in place by an emerald hairpin that matched her eyes and the green gemstone clasp on the white-fur wrap that partly covered her pale yellow coat. "That's what you've done, Spring. Get out of our kingdom, and don't ever come back!"
Wait. What?
"I'm not Spring!" I cried out, trying to run. Anywhere. Anywhere to get away from these taunting ponies. My hooves scrabbled on the rain-slick marble paving bricks, and I fell to the hard stones with a painful thud. "You're mistaking me for someone else! Please, you have to believe me! I'm not my mother!"
"Then why do you look like her?" hissed the unicorn stallion from before. "And why should we believe you? You're all scheming, rotten, worthless insects! You don't deserve to live at all!"
He shoved his face close to mine, so close that I could feel his hot breath on my muzzle. The air around him warped and shimmered, and suddenly he was wearing the glowing golden armor of Sun Princess Celestia's Day Guard, minus the helmet. His eyes narrowed to angry slits.
"I have slain hundreds of enemies to the Crown of Equestria," he said to me in a low, dangerous voice. "I have killed so many foes that it is impossible to count them. Do you know how many have fallen at my hooves? Now you will just be a nice addition to their ranks, once I am done with you." His horn glowed with a magical aura. It was a deep, menacing red.
There was a flash of silver and emeralds.
And then everything went black, black, black, and I fell into complete darkness.
"AAAAAHHH!"
I'm not sure when I started screaming, but the next thing I knew, a blur of gold and black flew to my side. "Lavender! What – did you have a nightmare again?" Marigold demanded, grabbing my hooves with hers.
My hoof freed itself from her grasp and flew to my neck. "They were – I was going to – he was about to –" I stuttered, shivering despite the warm blanket covering me. "I was going to be killed!" I finally managed to choke out.
Marigold, my beloved twin sister, stared into my purple eyes with her golden ones for a long moment. "But you are still here, aren't you, Lav?" she said, letting go of my other hoof. "You're safe, all right? Now come on, we're already late as it is."
I looked around us, breathing heavily and trying to calm down. We were in one of the big, open rooms where the ordinary drones of the Changeling Hive slept. It was rather bland, but very efficient. White canvas cots were neatly arrayed throughout the room, grouped in pairs of two. My sleeping cot, adorned with a feather pillow and a warm quilt, was paired with Marigold's. The light of many large magic gems, glowing soft white, was reflected by the big shards of crystal mirror embedded in the walls. It was an airy, comfortable space.
The queen might not have liked us very much, but she cared enough to provide us with a nice place to sleep and rest.
Marigold was right; we were running late. The other Changelings were already filing out of the sleeping rooms, casting dirty glances at us sisters as they passed by. I busied myself with arranging the pillow and blanket on my cot, pretending that their hostile glares did not pierce my heart like thorns.
Looking up, I saw my reflection clearly in one of the light-mirrors. I know that my appearance is different from every other Changeling's, and I'm not ashamed of it. But sometimes, I wish that I was just as normal as everyone else in the Hive.
Being half-pony, half-Changeling does come with a few perks for my look. Like the other Changelings, my coat of chitin armor is black as night, my legs have holes in them all the way up to the knees, and I have fangs. My magical horn is curved and crooked, which is perfectly ordinary. But that is where the similarities end and the differences start. I have a thick, beautiful mane and tail, which are a lovely purple color, and my transparent wings are a lighter hue. My eyes are the eyes of a pony, and a deep shade of gleaming violet.
I glanced over at Marigold. Her body is – sorry, was (I still have a hard time accepting that she is gone now) – basically the same as mine, but her mane and eye and wing colors were different. My sister's mane was a pretty, brilliant gold, her wings were transparent amber, and her eyes almost matched the color of her hair.
There was one thing that visibly linked us together – not literally, but metaphorically: the special horn rings that Mother gave us just before she died. They are made of shiny silver, with the same design but with different jewels. The gem charm dangling from my ring is royal amethyst, and Marigold's jewel is bright gold topaz.
I never take mine off, and neither did Marigold, when she was alive. I still have her ring, as a keepsake. A memory.
Thinking about the rings made me think of Mother. It had been almost a week since she had been killed by Queen Thysanura. And every day since, I'd had nightmares about my family. The most recent one, yesternight's, was one of the worst so far.
Did I mention that we were only nine years old at the time?
"Come on, Lavender!" my sister called, buzzing her wings impatiently as she hovered by the door. "The queen is not going to be happy if we're any later today than we were yesterday!"
"Coming, coming, coming," I muttered rapidly, unrolling the scroll that I kept beneath my pillow. "Let's see, what duty have we got today? Dungeon cleaning – ugh! – is tomorrow, gardening was the day before yesterday . . . ah! Today we have . . . library organizing." I tucked the scroll away and flew to follow Marigold through the door and out of the room.
"Library organization? We haven't done that in a while," Marigold commented as we flew through the hallways. Her gaze darted below us, then flicked back to my face.
I glanced down, too, and immediately regretted it. The usual flow of Changelings was below us in the corridor, and as soon as I looked at them, many sent the familiar glares up at us. I sighed and turned away from them. Why couldn't they just be nice? We had their blood in us, so it made us two of them, though they didn't see it that way.
To distract myself from my fellow drones, I studied the decor that surrounded us.
The Changeling Hive is a stone castle smack in the middle of our Wastelands, always filled with Changelings going to and fro. You can't be a pony and sneak in there without the use of very powerful, advanced magic. Even then, there's a pretty good chance that you would get caught and executed right away.
Unlike what a pony would expect of a Hive of Changelings, this Hive was very well kept. Long banners of blue-and-green silk hung on the smooth stone walls every thirty paces, with shimmering light crystals at regular intervals, too. A hall runner, carefully woven of the same-colored threads, partly covered the floor of every hallway. Even the fresh scent of the queen's favorite Equestrian flower perfume, called Serenity, filled the rooms with a soft feeling of gentle cleanliness.
This used to be my home. But not anymore, which I regret.
The Hive library is the biggest room in the enormous Hive, which is really saying something. It is also the largest tower. I hadn't been there in a long time, and neither had Marigold, so when we opened the heavy doors, we just stood there for a moment to gawk.
The ceiling of the round library soars high overhead, painted with the beautiful image of a night sky filled with sparkling constellations of stars. Dark mahogany bookshelves cover every inch of the walls, all the way up to the turret ceiling. Books and scrolls, from dusty old tomes to brand-new storybooks, fill the shelves with a goldmine of information and stories. A couple of round tables for reading are arranged in a wide circle on the floor, with faint magical sound barriers between each one for privacy. In the middle of the circle stands a single table, round and mahogany like the others. A catalog scroll, enchanted to hold more information than it can physically contain, sits there, with sparkling crystal paperweights to hold the corners down.
But the best thing about this library is the lighting. Instead of the boring wall crystals, magical globes of soft light in a rainbow of pastel colors bob everywhere in the air, floating close to the floor or almost touching the ceiling. I used to spend hours lying on the floor, watching the lightglobes.
I loved it here, and I still do.
"We'd better get to work if we want to finish today," Marigold said, taking charge. She fluttered her wings to prep for a long day of flapping from bookshelf to bookshelf. "You start over there, and I'll begin here. Just use these dusters . . ." Her golden magic whisked two feather dusters out of nowhere, carrying with them the scent of lemon. ". . . And don't forget to order the books."
"Got it, Captain!" I playfully saluted her and flew off with one of the supplied dusters.
I got to work, swiping the feathery thing across rows of old books before painstakingly pulling each one out and pushing it back into its rightful spot. This would take a very, very long time, but I took comfort in the fact that organizing a library was easy.
No, really, how difficult could it be?
A few long, torturous hours later . . .
"This is so hard!"
My horn ached from the use of so much levitation magic, my eyes and nose itched unbearably, and my stupid, sensitive mouth kept sneezing at every unfortunate moment. And on top of all that, I had to keep twisting around to check if my wings had fallen from my back yet. Because it sure felt like it!
Marigold was flapping in circles above me, frowning down at where I lay on the library floor. I pressed my cheek against the cold, pure-white marble, sighing with exhaustion. Every sore muscle in my body was screaming for mercy. Who would have known that simply cleaning up a collection of books would be so complicated? Was a nice hot bath and a short nap too much to ask for right now?
"Come on, Lavender, get up." Marigold flew down, grabbed one of my forelegs, and started to pull on it. I instantly yanked my leg away from her. "Lav, we still have more than half of this library to organize! Do you want to face the queen and tell her why we couldn't finish this job? She hates us enough!"
Startled at my sister's suddenly sharp voice, I looked at her and was surprised to see that Marigold was close to panicked tears, a side of her that even I had never seen before: the side that constantly fretted about the queen. "Okay," I agreed quietly, without further protest. "Let's get back to work. And no matter how much I complain, I'm not going to stop again."
"Good. Thanks, Lav." Marigold flew back to her side of the library. I didn't mention her almost-tears, and she didn't say anything after that. We worked in companionable silence for about ten minutes before I broke my half-promise and stopped.
"I'm so fed up with this!" I exclaimed, throwing down my duster. "There has to be some way to get all of this done by tonight!"
"Check Haycarte's Spellbook of Everyday Methods," came a voice that was most certainly not Marigold's. I jumped, dropping the book I held with a loud thump. There was a muffled yelp of pain from the new arrival.
Horror filled me as the visitor levitated the thick book off her horn, where it had been impaled. She was no other than Princess Chrysalis, Queen Thysanura's youngest daughter and my superior royalty.
Oh, I was going to get killed for this someday.
"Princess! I'm so sorry!" I cried, landing loudly beside her. "Are you all right? Did I hurt you? Do you need any ice? Ohmygosh, I really didn't mean to drop that book on your head! Sorry sorry sorry!"
The princess, who was only a year older than me, mustered a small smile. "It's okay, Lavender, I'm fine," she answered, gingerly lifting a hoof to her head. She winced in pain and, with a simple pop and a flash of green, manifested a bag of ice before pressing it to her forehead.
While she tended to her headache, I picked up the ruined book. Chrysalis's sharp horn had gone through the back cover and most of the pages, but was too short to pierce the front cover. I set it aside, intending to find a way to fix it later.
"What are you doing here, Lavender?" Chrysalis asked, flipping her ice bag over with the small crunch of shifting ice chunks. "Oh, library duty? That must be an awful job."
What do you know about awful jobs? I thought resentfully, returning to my hard work. You royals never even have to lift a hoof around here. You don't know what it's like to face the hatred of a queen, and I bet you've never had to work a day in your life.
Her next words stopped my flow of jealousy.
"I think I can help you with that."
I turned, and Marigold landed next to us with a bright spark of curiosity in her amber gaze. "Really? Is the solution in Haycarte's Spellbook of Everyday Methods?" she asked. I studied her face closely and could find no sign of the distress she had shown just a few moments before.
Chrysalis nodded, looking pleased. "It is! Here, I know where it is." Her horn flared with green magic, pulling a book from one of the highest library shelves. We gathered around a table to read it.
The book was bound in dark blue leather with intricate gold ornamentation and the stamped filigree letters spelling out its title: Haycarte's Spellbook of Everyday Methods. It was thick and in very fine condition. I noticed how Chrysalis's green eyes gleamed with anticipation as she flipped through the pages.
"I know that the cleaning spell is here somewhere," the princess said, flipping faster. "Hmm . . . the Jewel Curses, the Water Enchantments, the Love Magics . . . ah, here we are. The Tersus Sursum Spell!"
"Can I try and cast it?" I asked, leaning in for a closer look.
"Of course, if you want to. Here it is, just make your horn glow and read these words out loud," Chrysalis instructed. "And be careful with the pronunciation. It can be tricky, and we don't want any accidents." She pushed the spellbook across the table, closer to me, so that I could read the spell.
I cleared my throat, lit up my horn, and opened my mouth to recite these strange words: "Eaque cum moto cornu meum mitto, MUNDUS et durare in isto!"
As we watched with wide eyes, a shiny blast of purple magic erupted from my horn, feeding into a glowing ball that floated above our heads. It was a strange sensation, as if little pieces of my magic and my spirit were being sucked out of me. When the sphere was almost as large as my head, my magic stopped flowing, and the ball exploded into a burst of bright light. A layer of shimmering, transparent violet energy covered the entire library and dissolved in the air, leaving behind these results.
I slapped my hooves over my untrustworthy eyes, too afraid to look. There was a shocked silence from Marigold and Chrysalis. That was good, right? They were too awestruck to say anything about my wonderful spellcasting? I did it!
I congratulated myself much, much, much, MUCH too early.
The smell of smoke filled the air, and the crackling of fire reached my ears. My head snapped up in horror. I'm pretty sure my pupils shrank to pinprick size; my wide eyes hurt so much.
The entire library was going up in flames. Orange jets of fire, blindingly bright, zinged back and forth across the room, spreading rapidly to other sections of bookshelf. I couldn't believe how quickly the books and scrolls burned up, crumbling into ashes like they had never been bursting with information just waiting to be discovered. Beside me, Marigold and the princess stared blankly at the roaring bonfire of wasted knowledge.
I wanted to scream, but I couldn't find my voice.
I wanted to stop the fire, to summon rain or snow or buckets of water, but my horn wouldn't work.
I wanted to do something, anything, to help, but I couldn't move.
In the midst of the blazing chaos, I stood still, silent and shocked and frozen. What is wrong with me?
Then the sounds and sights came rushing back, clamoring for space inside my ears and fighting for control inside my brain. Shouts, hoofbeats, more shouts, more hoofbeats. A torrent of Changeling drones pouring into the room, dumping water and ice into the fire. Angry hooves pointed my way. And after that came the most frightening of all. Her Majesty, the Queen of her Changeling Hive.
She stepped into the library and slowly looked around to survey the obvious disharmony. Her green gaze narrowed as it rested on Marigold and me. I flinched; I couldn't help it.
"What," she said deliberately and incredulously, "is going on here?"
Ice and fire.
That's what it felt like, her burning, freezing eyes boring a hole right through me. My numb, slow-reacting body felt the pain worse than it could feel any sort of magic intended to harm.
Her.
For the first time since my mother's execution, I felt a chill of terror zing down my spine.
We were dead.
Author's Note
And here is the start of Lavender's Story! Don't worry, I know what you might be thinking. It'll get a lot more interesting later on in the tale. Thanks for reading! 
