I am Chrysalis, queen of the Locust hive of the Changelings. I am the lover of a thousand mares, ten thousand stallions, mother to one hundred thousand young, and feared by millions. Some ponies and others know my embrace, but everyone knows my power. I once upon a time even made a mighty pony captain, and a princess's favorite, my thrall, after shutting that pink mule in a cave, of course. For months, I milked him for everything he had. His body felt so good, and I made him feel good, too, as I extracted more than just semen from him. He filled me with love like an unending feast. All night long. Every single night. For months. He made me so strong that when my time came and Celestia herself confronted me, she stood no match against my power.

But alas, we are born by love, made strong by love, and we are destroyed by love.

And love has destroyed me.

Destroyed my hive.

We were defeated at our moment of triumph. And now we are scattered, lost, isolated. I know not where my remaining children are. For a mother, this is unacceptable. At this time, I must assume that they are all dead or captured. Such a shame, I actually liked some of them. No matter, I am alive and have centuries of fertility left. I almost look forward to making them all again. That is the hazard when you have thousands of children and they're not just family but also your advisors, workers, and soldiers. To me, losing a child is as routine as it is for you ponies as finding out a coworker changed jobs or got reassigned elsewhere. It's not that I don't care for my children, it's that I don't get pointlessly sentimental about them. Our lives are dangerous. Changelings die. Crying isn't going to fix that. I have things to see and ponies to do.

Tonight, I take another step toward returning to glory. I have advertised my services as an escort and I have a client soon. Here's to my first meal since the battle. Maybe, if I like him, I'll deign to release some eggs after he's done. Enough talking. Now come on, I need some lovin'...

I make sure my disguise is in place before he gets here. I'm a cute little pegasus mare with the most adorably curly mane, frizzy tail, and huge, turquoise eyes. I've named myself Blue Cirrus. I practice my smile in the mirror. While I'm at it, I make sure that my fangs are hidden. Good thing they are; we Changelings are true carnivores. Yes, we can live off the unending stream of plants that ponies do, but if given a choice, we'll take meat every single time, and the bloodier the better. Perhaps that's why waiting for my client to arrive is getting me so excited? I feel like a cat waiting to pounce on an unsuspecting mouse. Those predatory instincts of mine really get worked up while I'm hunting.

I'm doing my best to look cute but sexy -- unthreatening. I make sure my mane and tail are cute and bouncy. I practice my smile, that stupid smile that stallions find just so charming and irresistible. I put on some lacey, black stockings -- that'll be all I wear; no need to overexcite him. I have a good read on this one already. I had heard his voice on the telephone. He sounded young and nervous. My best is he's probably just at the cusp of stallionhood or perhaps a bit over it, not a lot of experience with mares, and likely not the best-looking guy out there. I am the consummate actress. All of us Changelings are. I am just as much a performer as anything else, and as a performer, I have to know my audience and how to give them what they'll like best. I can be anything from a nerdy filly who fake squeaks in embarrassment at the word horsecock, to the ultimate seductress shaped like a model with the husky voice, and the killer evening gown with the most devilish lingerie. This particular one demands a gentle, unthreatening approach. I bet that I could make him faint with all the blood rushing to his loins if I gave him my very best. My plan is to play it casual but friendly. The stockings will be all the eroticism I display initially; no need to go overboard.

Does it surprise you to find a queen whoring herself out as a prostitute? Fool, I am no pampered pretty pony princess; I am a queen of the Changelings, and I have endured far worse. For now, I am sheltered, warm, fed, and supplied with prey; for me, the living is easy. Keep in mind that we Changelings are not only dependent on love, but we also are a resilient race. We struggle and scrape to survive. Unlike the decadent royals of Canterlot, I was not born into luxury, I don't live in luxury, and I almost certainly won't die in luxury. I was brought up gnawing bones and milking love from our prisoners. From the day I could walk, I learned to hunt. From the day I learned to talk, I learned to deceive. From the day my body could become aroused, I learned to fuck. Those soft equine fools... They call us evil, barbaric, parasitic, uncivilized, callous, and every other word they think is insulting. We may not be sugary sweet, but I would very much like to see them try living like us. It is so easy to be perennially kind and gentle when you live in sheltered bliss, never knowing tough decisions or facing hardships. Once upon a time, there was a word invented to describe Equestria's policy towards us? What was it, you ask? Genocide.

So I manipulate and steal. I need to stay alive. I have my own to take care of. Perhaps if these ponies were as generous as they think they are, we would have no need of all the deception and raids? I have led my hive in hundreds of raids and dozens of battles. I have killed. I have lost comrades. Blood and struggle is our way of life. Does a dragon feel grief for the sheep it must eat? No. Nor do I feel bad for the ponies I slay and those I drain. I feel my blood pump cold as I think about battle again. Blood, so much blood... so hot... it's everywhere, soaking into my skin. Never be clean, never be clean, never be clean! My eyes widen and feel damp. I shake it off.

I still my unstead body by humming a tune, a simple cradle song of comfort, nothing like bones gnawed by teeth. I wipe my eyes and apply some silicone lube to my pussy. I touch myself between my legs. A bit of pleasure arises from this. Sure, I'm lubed up, but I want him to smell my copulance. Besides, I feel just somehow better with a bit of naughty enjoyment blocking out some less pleasant thoughts. The prey is almost upon me.

A knock at the door. I lick my lips. The prey has arrived.

There is a knock at the door.

Author's Note

The first chapter in a short multiparter exploring Queen Chrysalis and Changelings in general. I hope you have enjoyed it so far and will enjoy the next chapter: Who I Do.

Keep calm and brony on. Support me on Patreon.

• Kalash93