Chapters I stir once more. Waking again to my pain and sorrow.
A few days have passed, and though the pain is less, I am still… still…
It hurts still. Everything I have done, a wasted, worthless life. Seeing the dead body of my last son in front of me has only reinforced that knowledge.
I endure only because of them. Their last wish was for me to live.
So I do. Or I try to.
I am too hurt to move anymore, and it is only chance that nothing has found me in my helplessness. Sometimes I wonder where I am, or what might happen.
Maybe I can recover enough to move before I starve, but I doubt it. One day passed, and I already feel the ravages of hunger in me once again.
I don’t think I can do what they asked of me, but I won’t give up. I won’t fail them by my action or inaction. If I can, I shall live.
I will starve, but I won’t die because of my sorrow. From my broken heart.
…Is that something nearby? I hear something moving through the bushes. Something large, and something small.
“Come on!” a young voice calls. “I see another!”
“Makes twelve of them.” a far deeper one mutters. “Dead black ponies, green blood… Never seen anything like this.”
“Just grab it Steel.” Another voice, that one a little softer than the other. Two big things then. “No reason to whine about it; the wives’ been going on about ‘doing what’s right’.”
“Yeah, I know.” Another rustle. “But what are they?”
“Bug ponies.”
I hear the little coming closer as the two larger keep speaking. What are they doing? Who are they?
Then I see it. A… I heard of them, but is that what one looks like?
Standing on two hooves, with an outfit and short black-clue fur, two tiny horns on its head. It has… hands I think they are called. Two hands on two… arms?
A minotaur? Is that a minotaur?
He gapes at me and I can’t help but to stare. It is nothing I’ve seen before. So different from anything else… He is strong, I can tell, and is… stunned? A kind of stunned; I can’t tell if he is happy stunned, fearful stunned, or confused stunned.
The he turns back and yells, “Pa! Pa, I found a big one and I think it’s alive!”
Then he hurries to me. How does he walk like that? Only two legs, and yet, he moves so fast and doesn’t fall…
He drops to his knees and stares at me. He is a little taller than one of my own children, and his eyes are small, and seem to glitter. They are yellow, with a black circle in the middle of them. So strange…
He moves to touch me and I hiss. He falls back, yelling and I glare at him.
What is he doing? Collecting my children’s bodies? Why? Where are his…
Oh…
He must be a child.
Because the other minotaur is huge. Taller than me. Taller than me by some height. If I was standing, my head might reach his chest.
His arms are like barrels, and I notice the blood staining his dark blue coat and clothes. His horns look deadly, curving forward and ending in a sharp tip. His eyes look a little red.
“Get away from it Nugget.” the big one says, coming over. Every step makes the earth shudder just a bit.
“It’s alive!” Nugget tells him. I wish he hadn’t.
That thing could crush me like nothing. And I can’t move at all.
When it gets closer I hiss again, and choke on the end of it. I have to scare it away.
It looks like it might be working. He looks uncertain and fearful, standing a few feet away.
“What’s taking so long!?”
The big one looks back. “This one’s different!”
“I’m dragging thirteen of them and you find one that’s different. Grab it and come on!”
“It’s alive!”
“Alive!?”
Another minotaur heads into the clearing. That one is grey blue, and is even bigger than the first. Not by much, but still…
I hiss again, weaker. Even so little drains me, but I must drive them away.
“See Pa?”
“Burnt iron, it is alive. Big one too.”
“Keeps hissing.”
“It can’t even move Steel.”
“Hissing like a snake.”
“That thing is no snake and you know it! Just cause a stupid snake bit you doesn’t mean you get to be scared of everything that hisses at you! Come on brother, show some courage!”
Steel looks back at me. He is worried.
I give my all into hissing at him again, and manage to shift. He jumps back, his eyes widening and the other groans and buries his head in his hand.
“Steel…”
“You get it! I ain’t going near that thing!”
“Can I get it Pa?”
“Let your uncle handle it.”
The other one sighs and then approaches. I hiss again, but he ignores it and grabs my child and lifts him away. Pulls him from my grasp such that it is.
He is taking him away.
I don’t know how I gain the strength, but I throw myself at him and bite his hand. He throws me off of him, yelling, and I collapse nearby.
I can’t move. Not at all. I’m broken even more. But I can’t let him…
“Not… my child…” I rasp.
I can’t see them anymore; I can’t move my head. But I hear them.
“The darn thing bit me!”
“I knew it, it is a snake!”
“It ain’t no snake!”
“It said something.”
“What?”
“It said something.”
“Don’t… take… my child.”
“…It did.”
“What’d it say uncle?”
“Can’t hear it. It’s being too quiet.”
“Don’t go..!”
“Steel! Act like a bull and not a mare! I got bit and I’m not quivering in fear! Let go!”
A few of those thudding steps again. They stop near me.
“…Did you say something?”
“Leave… them… alone…”
“…Why?”
“My… children… leave them…”
“…Listen. Whatever you’re thinking, we are trying to… help. They’re all dead if you didn’t know.”
“Let… them… lie…”
“...You’re trembling.”
Silence. For a long time.
“…Right. This is what I’m gonna do.”
“I don’t know what happened, and I’m real sorry for your loss, but if we don’t bury them, the birds will get them. So I’m gonna finish my job here, and then I’m coming back for you.”
“To get you someplace safer than out here. And maybe get better. Got it?”
…
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
“Come on Steel, Nugget! Move it! We need to go and get Emerald and come back!”
“We’re helping it!?”
“It’s a… I’ll tell you later.”
“It’s a what?” Nugget asks. I hear them leaving.
“It’s a big bug Nugget.”
“Oh.”
I don’t understand. What are they doing? They want to bury my children? They offer condolences for their deaths? Why?
What do they want from me? What do they want to accomplish? Are they trying to gain my favor? By doing this?
Fake sorrow and pragmatic action? Nonsense, but minotaur aren’t supposed to be smart. If they think they can fool me they are mistaken.
I will take advantage of them. They will help me recover, and then…
Then…
…
Then what?
What am I going to do once I am healed?
…
Do I… Do I even deserve this little kindness? Do I deserve to start again..?
…
I will live. I will recover, like my children wished me to.
But I will never hatch another child.
I will never fail another child again. Better that they never be born than suffer me as a mother.
A few hours later I hear them return. I also hear a gasp, a softer voice, but still strong and deep.
“Poor thing…”
“Should I?”
“Gently. Really, really gently.”
“O.K. Come on big girl. Just don’t bite me again.”
I feel one grab me, and as slowly as he can lifts me. He is being careful, and takes me up as if I weight nothing. I hang helplessly, my blood dripping down.
Then he carefully places me atop a cloth, and I see the other one, Steel, watching and a black female kneeling nearby. Her eyes and mind are filled with concern…
“Just lie still and you’ll be alright.” she tells me, carefully wrapping me in the cloth and manipulating my broken legs to lie close to my body. I gasp as she does so; the pain is breathtaking with every motion. I can’t remain conscious…
Is she trying to kill…
Tears.
She is crying.
That is the last I see before I fall into darkness.
“…Monster!”
“She is a mother! And I’m not letting you kill her!”
“She is a queen ! A queen of the love eaters and you brought her here!”
“She has lost too much for us to not extend our hands!”
“She will only bite them off!”
Must they scream when arguing? My head hurts enough…
Hm. My body is tightly wrapped, but the ever-present pain of that has faded. My head might pound from their yells, but I am actually feeling better. Is something burning nearby? I smell smoke as well.
I open my eyes and spy Nugget and two other tiny minotaur peering at me. I am on a bed of some kind and they gasp and duck under it when they see me awake.
“You do it.”
“No, you do it.”
“I’m older.”
“I got a bigger tail.”
Two of them start squabbling and the third peers up again.
“…Hi.”
…
“Hi.” I tell it back. Silence, and after a moment the other two look up again.
…
“My name’s Nugget.” one suddenly says. That seemed to encourage the others.
“I’m Spark!” Male, little younger than Nugget, not by much. Black fur, and oddly yellow horns.
“Mommy call me Gem.” Female, younger than both. I notice that she doesn’t have horns. Too young maybe. Her fur is a dark brown.
The mommy comment cuts a little. I never named my children…
“What’s your name?” Nugget asks.
Why are they… are all children so curious? I remember the foals of the ponies being endlessly curious as well.
Maybe my own were the same way if I hadn’t slapped them down at every opportunity.
The thought encourages a tear in one eye which I manage to blink away. I shouldn’t show weakness in front of others. In front of them.
“Chrysalis.” I say, trying to get my mind away from my past.
All three stare.
“Can I call you Buzzy instead?” Gem asks. She does so softly and submissively.
“We can call her Great Beetle!” Nugget yells.
“Or Scar bug!” Spark adds.
“Battle Bug!”
“Rock bug!”
“Obsidian !” they both cry at the same time.
“Your name is Obsidian.” Nugget says, staring at me like he can name me.
I frown. “No. My name is Chrysalis, and I have no other.”
All three droop, whining softly.
“But Obsidian is awesome…” Nugget whines.
“I can’t say Ch… that.” Spark says.
Gem simply sniffles.
…There is a distressing desire to give in to them. Why?
“Children!” All three look over as a brown female enters from somewhere. “Stop bothering her and go play!”
They head off and the brown one looks at me. I look back and we regard each other for a moment.
She has small horns, like the black female. A racial trait, or something else?
“How are you feeling?” she asks, kneeling to check something I can’t see.
“Like I am in a cocoon in a place too loud and too smoky.”
“You’re feeling too bound? I can loosen that.”
“Leave it.” I say. It makes me feel like I am in a cocoon. It is actually comforting, though based on her expression as she leans back to see my face she obviously doesn’t understand.
“…Alright…”
“Anyway, your legs are doing better. Bleeding less anyway. Mind telling me if this is natural or some kinda armor?” She holds up part of my shell.
“Natural armor.” I tell her. “Why are you helping me?”
“What?”
“What do you want to get, helping me?”
“…Uhh… I would like to see you get better, and maybe… nothing really.”
Nothing my scarred wings.
“Liar.”
“Hey!”
“What do you want?”
“I told you!”
“You lie. Everything wants something when they help.”
“We just want to help!”
Is she getting upset with me? Good. Maybe she will slip up and reveal the truth. I should get her mad.
“You want to help? I’ll tell you how you can help. Lean closer.” I whisper.
She does so, and I smirk, just a little. I know a word.
And into her ear, I hiss, “Stop lying to me and yourself you mindless cattle .”
She jerks upright, and for an instant I see her face.
I got her mad alright, but she is… very upset as well. She leaves without a sound, stomping.
Minotaur can stomp fairly well. I can still hear and feel her steps after several moments.
And then I hear her yell in some mixture of anger and sadness, and a thud, along with a confused cry and voices just loud enough to be heard, but not enough to be understood.
…
Stupid minotaur. They are a bit stronger than I thought if that didn’t break her. I’ll have to be harder, and a bit more careful.
They can kill me very easily.
Alright, new plan.
Allow them to help me, deny everything they want, and eventually discover their true intentions. That should do it.
I might have a broken heart and body, but my will is still unbroken. I might be carrying far too many bad memories and painful thoughts, but they will not take advantage of my weakness.
I close my eyes and relax. Sleeping will make this far more tolerable.
It would be much easier if they stopped yelling like dragons.
I wake with a start, gasping. I feel fear, shock, and I don't know why.
“Somethin the matter?”
I look and see the big blueish minotaur, the brother of Steel, staring at me.
“Heard you gasp.”
“…Nothing.” I tell him. “It was nothing.”
“…Hmph.”
He moves closer, and then kneels so his face is far closer to my own. I see… conflict in his eyes. He is angry, but holding himself back.
“Then I want to known somethin.”
“Why’d you go an call Emmy that name?”
“Who’s Emmy?” I asked him, watching.
“Emmy’s my wife.” he told me. “She’s the one you called cattle. I want to know why.”
Ah. Perhaps getting the female upset was shortsighted. How to disarm this…
“…I… The recent time has been very hard on me.” I said. “And… Emmy reminded me of a few things, so I… lashed out.”
That was perfect, but his eyes only change slightly.
“She says that you were demandin to know what we wanted.”
...Stupid cow, telling everything to everyone like that. Why couldn't she have kept her mouth shut?
“…” What can I say to that?
“I can tell you if you want to know.” he says after a moment of silence.
“…Alright. What do you want?” I ask. Maybe minotaur are stupid? Or is this some kind of complex plot?
I need to learn faster, and act subtly. And not upset them; they obviously talk with each other, and have relationships not immediately apparent.
He sighs, thinking. “First, my name’s Falls. Waterfalls if you want the full name, but I go by Falls.”
“Bout three days ago, one o yours slammed into our front door. And we found more nearby. So we went to collect them; dead things encourage predators and bad things. Best to bury them.”
“That’s when Nugget and his father, my brother, Steel, found you.”
“Now, you said it yourself. All the others are your children. All… sixty or so of them.”
He looks pained for a moment. And then shook his head and continued.
“I don’t know what happened, but… Emmy knows what that’s like.”
“What?” I ask. How would she… oh.
“We lost a couple ourselves.” Falls says, seeming old and tired for a moment before shaking it off.
“And even if grandmother says that you are… what she says you are, you think, you speak, and you cried. You defended your child to the very end.”
“As far as I’m concerned, that makes you a person, a minotaur. And…”
“You don’t leave minotaurs to die in the woods.”
“…Why not?” I ask. And why not? Strangers in a strange place. Why give them anything if you didn’t want something in return?
He seems stunned slightly. “It’s called empathy. The feeling,”
“When you can feel what others feel.” I finish for him. “Celestia, minotaurs are just…”
“The world spits on kindness.” I say.
“What?”
“Give an inch, and others will tear you apart. The world is not kind, nothing is kind. Take, because nothing will be given, and guard, lest you be taken from. That is reality.”
“That ain’t,”
“I’m not finished. Look at your actions.”
“You take in a changeling queen, even when your grandmother tells you what I am. What I can do.”
“And if… if my children hadn’t died because of my choices, and I hadn’t realized my faults and hadn’t been so hurt when you found me… I would already…” I stop, and close my eyes. Thinking about it is making me teary.
“You would curse every second of your choice to help me.”
I take a few deep breaths, and hear Falls do the same.
“But it worked out.” he says, and I open my eyes to see him staring at me. He is… determined.
“And despite bein… being such a…” he struggles to find the words for a moment before an idea hits him, and he smirks a little. “Grandmother tells lots of tales. Want to hear my favorite?”
“No.”
“Too bad.” he says, sitting down to lean against the bed. He is still taller than me like that.
“It’s called the Scarred Minotaur.”
“I don’t want to,”
He puts one giant hand over my mouth and silences me, continuing to speak as if nothing happened. I try to move and he grips and I stop. That strength is terrifying, and I have no wish for him to do something rash.
“Anyway. So, one day, this little minotaur was born in a… bad spot. It wasn’t a safe place; predators attacked often, and the bulls weren’t there to teach the children. So the children taught themselves, and in a place with little food and where the children were made to do the work of the bulls, it became bad.”
“They fought over food, and fought over dominance. They fought to determine who would lead a happy life, and who’s backs they had to stand on to do that. They taught the lesson of ‘the strongest wins, and the weakest suffers’.”
“Scar wasn’t very big or strong, and became a target for the rest. He ‘learned’ the lesson fast, and he became the nastiest piece of slate you can imagine. He bit, he gored, and he had no compassion, no mercy. When he fought, he fought to the very end, even when his opponent had given up, to get the rest to back off by making an example of one.”
“He even had a kinda… thought thing, grandmother has a better word for that, but he ‘knew’ how life worked. He thought like this: Life stinks, and everything and everyone is horrible. You need to fight and steal to have anything, and guard it, lest it be taken from you.”
“Scar grew up like that, and when it was his turn to defend the town, he knew what to do.”
“He got his enemies killed by the beasts. And for that, the rest chased him away, and he ran and hid in the mountains nearby.”
“And for decades after, he knew that he was right. That everything was out to hurt and harm him, and take what was his. And he did the same thing to anything and anyone who he found.”
“He lived until he was an old bull, and do you know how the story ends?”
“One day, a lost and terrified child, story doesn’t say if they were girl or boy, found him. And despite everything, old Scar couldn’t harm a child.”
“He took the child in, and fed them, and then told them to leave. He told them that while he had shown kindness, nothing else would, and he wasn’t going to continue doing so.”
“’The world is a horrible place.’ The old bull told the child. ‘I know that. I learned that. Leave me. I won’t be so kind anymore. I am nothing but an old, scarred bull’.”
“But the old bull wished that the child might stay. Something in him was changing, and he wanted it to change, but he couldn’t do it himself. His scars and hates were too deep for him to heal alone.”
“The child had a chance, and they knew it. A chance to save Scar from his scars, and maybe even bring the old bull back to the clan. It was Scar’s last chance, and he put it in the hands of a child.”
“The child left, turning their back on Scar.”
“Scar watched them go, and knew that he was right.”
“Nothing would ever be given, and everything must be taken. The world, and everyone in it, was truly horrible.”
“Scar went back to his home, and he died there a year later, an old, scarred, hateful bull that no one cared about.”
“And no one ever saw that child again.”
“Grandmother says that fate hates those who are given a chance and turn their backs on it. She says fate took them for their failure.”
“Story is… striking, huh? Sometimes I want to be that child, and make the right choice instead of the wrong one, and you know what?
“I have a chance, and you might be changing.”
“And I ain’t about to turn my back on a crusty old changeling queen when I have the chance to save you from your own scars.”
He finally releases me, but I can’t find words. Minotaur are not supposed to be so… wise.
Is he right?
… Am I changing? I… I am different now than I was a week ago. I can feel the change deeper yet, but it hurts, it is slow, and I don’t want to…
I don’t…
…
For my children, I wish to change. I thought I could, and in a way I have. But I was blind.
Alone, I would only become an old queen, living alone with my regrets. I… I would know that I would only repeat my mistakes if I ever laid another egg, and deny myself.
I would become the old scarred queen. Living alone only to die alone, hating everything around me and being hated by everything around me. Hating myself more than anything else.
The minotaur found me in my weakness. At just the right time; when I was at my weakest, when I couldn’t resist them.
I can’t change alone. I… I knew that, I was just in denial of that fact. My pride, shattered into pieces, is still too strong for me to change so much on my own.
But with help?
Can I become the queen my children deserve?
Can I… can my scars heal, and the mistakes of the past be remedied?
Can… with their help, can…
Could I be a mother again? Could I deserve to be a mother again?
I make my choice, and find my vision blurred with tears again. It hurts to accept that I am scarred, but I will.
I must.
“I… I…”
“Take your time.” Falls says, wiping at my tears. I focus and try again.
“I’m… I’m not going to be nice. I…”
“I’m a horrible person who will hurt you. I’ll take from you, and never give anything. I’ll upset you, and make you mad, and enjoy doing so, but…” What to say, how to say it…
… I know.
“Leave me. I won’t be so kind anymore.” I say. "I'm nothing but an old, scarred queen."
He actually chuckles. “I told you. I ain’t turning my back on you.”
“And you ain’t about to bite through my skin. If you need help, I’ll help, if you want to hurt, you can try, but I’m too tough for you.”
“I’ll stop you when you need stopping and push when you need pushing. Until you can stand on your own, and forget the old scars.”
“So you can be the best… queen you can be.”
I laugh. It really hurts to laugh, but I can’t prevent myself.
I can’t decide if he is more naive than a newborn, more arrogant than myself, or if he actually means all that.
Maybe a bit of all three. I slowly stop, and look at him again.
“You’re going to hate me.” I tell him.
“You’re going to hate me.” he tells me right back. We go back and forth with each other, almost like a game.
“I’m a horrible person, and the worst minotaur you can imagine.”
“I’m the stubbernest bull around, and nothin you can do will stop me.”
“Just watch.”
“Just watch.”
“You’ll throw me out by next week.”
“By next week, I’ll have taught you manners.”
“You’ll scream.”
“You’ll cry.”
“You might lock me in a room to be rid of my voice.”
“I might give you a room, and laugh at your voice.”
I shake my head. “Alright, enough. But I mean it; this mood won’t last. I’ll be back to who I am fairly soon.”
“I know. But I’m not going to let that stick. But for now, how about a promise?”
“I promise not to turn my back on you. Will you promise me that you truly want to change?”
“I do. With all of my mind, I do.”
“Good.” he rumbles, and then he stands back up, groaning a little. “Get some rest, and get better; you have to move again before you get stuck like that.”
“Maybe you can just carry me around.”
He laughs as he leaves. “Or maybe I can tie a rope to you and drag you around!”
He is insufferable, and yet…
I think I need him to be like that. Be the rock that I can slam my head into over and over without it breaking apart or harming me more than I harm it.
I don’t know if I can change. But I won’t give up.
For my children. For the old, and maybe, possibly, one day… the new.
I relax on the bed once more. I need my strength.
It was going to be painful and hard and slow, but…
Waterfalls had a chance.
And I was changing.
I wake, feeling enclosed, warm. I see another minotaur tending to me, smearing a substance upon my broken form. It is warm. Comforting in a sense. But having her grip my broken legs is worrying; she could snap them like twigs.
“Awake?” she asks, not looking.
I know this one. Emmy, wasn't it? Falls’ mate.
“You’re doing better at least.” she says, her voice and tone having an edge to them. It doesn’t matter much; I can feel the shallowness of her anger, and a far deeper tolerance.
I am not truly sure what I feel about that. My self is unsure, uncertain. What I once considered absolute suddenly cast in doubt.
No. Not doubt. I have to change. Make this permanent, seize the chance and pull myself away from what I once was.
For my lost children.
“...Anything to say?” she asks, still not looking at me, continuing to work.
I can do this. Kind. Something kind.
“… I feel fine.”
…Not bad, keep it up.
She huffs faintly, and begins to bandage me again. “Good. You know… ‘cattle’ isn’t a really nice thing to call someone.”
“I know that.” I tell her. “Stupid cow.” I add.
I can feel her snap a little, not in anger, but in a kind of despair. A gentle one, one I can use to my advantage. Just a little…
…
I’m an idiot.
Emmy retreats rather swiftly. For obvious reasons. Leaving me only partly bandaged as well. Stupid c, stop it.
I need help. I need to get myself out of this, I need to stop this, I need to gain the advantage. Use it, their emotions, so easily twisted. They won’t kill me. Use that, and… and…
…
The pain is nothing I can’t endure. Not thinking such thoughts is nigh impossible. Even now, I can feel the emotions beyond, and see the ways to take advantage, words marshaling without my calling them. Or maybe I am.
Plots and suspicions and…
…Is that hate?
It is. Not toward me either. There and gone in a moment, but it was there; I know hate too well for that to hide from me. Strong and burning. What was that? Too fast for me to truly tell, and well hidden. Possibly even from the holder.
Waterfalls enters again, and he does not harbor any. Disappointed, but mostly enduring. He knows I will be hard to handle.
But what was that hate?
He sighs as he kneels next to me, finishing my wrapping with surprising gentleness.
“Never did get your name. If you have one.”
“Chrysalis.” I tell him. I almost add queen before I stop myself.
And now I’m sad. Great. No, that is good; easier to pay attention. Look at where pride has gotten me; break it now. I’m nothing.
He sees me moping, and gains a note of sympathy. Not helpful. Sympathy is really, really easy to twist. Like a giant lever for me to pull and tug on to make him act how I want him to.
“…I heard a pony call a butterfly cocoon that, once.” he tells me. Do they? “Kinda fitting, I think.”
“How?” I ask, grabbing hold of curiosity. Trying to avoid any thought of planning or plotting.
“Little bugs become butterflies. They change, a lot. Like yer goin ta.”
I snort before recalling that I want to. He chuckles at that.
“Bet you don’t even know how ta apologize.”
“Of course I do.”
“Really?”
“It’s…”
…
I don’t. I only know the fake feeling, the face, the emotions. Not the words. Nothing to make him, unable to hear my thoughts, understand.
It’s a cutting realization, and one that makes the old me silence for now.
“You don’t, do you?”
“…No.” I say, wincing. Even now, I hold some pride it seems. It hurts to admit that. But why am I prideful anyway? A broken queen, nothing but a failure to herself, her hive, her duty, and her children.
“It’s real simple.”
“Just tell me.”
“Really simple. It’s jus th one word.”
I groan. Maybe Falls is a little more perceptive than I thought, and is tormenting me purposefully, trying to break the old me.
That or it’s minor revenge for calling his mate derogatory names. Or both. I can’t tell.
“Everyone I can think of knows it.”
Revenge.
“But let’s step through th whole thin, jus in case.”
Definitely revenge.
“When ya do something wrong, it’s ‘sorry’.” he says. O.K. Fine. Simple.
“An when ya want something, you say ‘please’ before an after ya ask. An if ya get it, its ‘thanks’. Ponies call em ‘magic words’, but I heard magic words an no unicorn is shoutin ‘please an thank ya!’ every time they do something sparkly.”
I don’t know if I should be entertained or mildly upset with him for that. Foals know please and thank…
…
I didn’t know them either, did I?
“Ya do seem ta be healin at least.” he muttered, finishing the wrappings. “Hungry?”
“No.” I say, before wondering. I’m not hungry.
The ravages of hunger are gone, or almost gone anyway. It is as if I feed on love, yet, there is no love here, at least not now.
Has something changed? More so than normal? Maybe…
I look inward, and expand my mind. The first thing I notice is the emptiness, the lack of minds around me, near me. I try to ignore that.
I see what it is a moment later.
Love. Not much love, love cut with sorrow, but it’s love.
From me. I’m producing love. I’m somehow feeding myself… no.
It’s love for my children. Given no place to go, it comes back to me, and I subsist upon it… I will not starve, not so long as I love them, even when they are dead. I…
I don’t know what to think as I focus on my physical surroundings again. I would have said impossible, and yet, it is true…
I have changed.
The though silences most of me. I can use this. I can change. I can live on.
I can remake myself into the queen my children deserve.
Falls has left. I wasn't paying attention, but now, I have some peace to try what I intend. If I can produce love, then I have changed. If I have changed like that, I can change in even greater ways.
I focus, and try. Giving my all to heal, to recover. Focusing on what I want to be, and directing the love toward those goals.
I feel slightly better.
And like that, the love is gone.
And I’m hungry again.
I don’t understand. It was there, I was using it, I was surviving upon it, and the moment I try something, it’s gone. Why? I was being careful. It was there before without reason, so why not be there now?
Aggravating. It…
…I wonder…
…Ah. I see.
I only produce love when I think of my children. When I try to use it, I think of other things, and thus, no longer think of them.
That’s why it is cut with sadness.
It’s my sadness. My love for them.
I can’t use it so selfishly. It… it’s their final gift to me. Their love given to me, despite my every attempt to make sure they despised me. It isn’t meant for me:
It’s for them, and they give it back to me. Not just because they can no longer use it, but because they want to give it to me.
I’m crying again.
It hurts. It hurts in ways I hate, and ways I deserve, and ways I want it to hurt. Ways it has hurt before. Ways it will hurt again.
… I won’t fail them again. I’ll take this love, I’ll live upon it. I’ll survive.
Not one drop for anything save what I need. My suffering a way for me to somehow make up for all I did. My helplessness to know what they once felt like, under my rule. My fear of the minotaur amplified, to see the fear they must have had of me.
I am no queen. I have no right to stand tall, or strong, or powerful. I deserve this suffering, and more to the point, I need it.
I need it to help me change. To help me kill the old queen, and become something new. This pain, this regret, this shattered pride, they become my weapons to fight with.
I will change. No matter how hard, no matter how much I hate it, I shall change. My body will recover on its own, and the minotaur are helping with that. I will…
I blink, and focus again, feeling something on my muzzle. I look, and see the little one, Gem, wiping at my tears.
“It’s O.K.” she tells me, and I see the potent emotions of the young in her. Deep concern, slight fear at seeing a big thing cry, and a kind of compassion, given to nearly everything.
“…Why are you here?” I ask her, whispering.
“Seeing you.”
“Why?”
She seems unsure, and I see the attempt in her to find words she doesn’t know. she wants to tell me she cares for me, somehow, and can’t. She simply pats at my head instead, smiling at me.
I almost smile at her, and take some comfort in that. I do not.
I do not deserve her care, and her weakness will be nothing save something for me to take advantage of later on. She must avoid me, for her sake.
“Go away.”
“What?”
“Go away.” I say harder. She cannot be near me like this. I’ll do something horrible to her, twist her tiny mind like the putty it is to something I can use.
Trap her in a cocoon and rip her love and life out to feed myself.
I must not make the old mistakes.
And that means not being near the children.
She is unsure, slightly confused, but nods. She leaves, but she does so from obedience, not anything else. She is… a good whatever minotaur call their young. Calf maybe. I know it isn't nymph. I’d like to see her again.
I move to sleep, sighing.
I don’t know what I’m trying to do anymore. My mind is confused, and thoughts roar about, fighting one another.
I’m not in a peaceful mood as I try to relax.
I hear… something…
A whisper, a tiny, trembling touch in the void around me. It’s… strange, different, too different. I can’t reach to it; I don’t know how to. But I must; this is no dream I feel.
My hope is to find a surviving child. Somewhere out there, someplace near or even someplace far. One that endured the fall, and endured the days apart. A weak, hopeless hope, but a hope, none the less.
I reach out, listening, trying to find what it is that bars me from the other. What wall lies between us, and how I might circumvent it..? A little more effort has me pressed against it, but no more.
Closer, I can just barely hear it, but…
It babbles. A fluster of emotions and words and ideas spill from it. As if it attempts to speak of an entire day in the span of moments. It is near incomprehensible.
…Is it mad? I can’t tell, too distant yet. But what mind would cause such ripples? So weak, and so many…
Who are you? I call out, hoping to find it respond to me.
I sense it change ever so slightly, but not much. Maybe it didn’t hear me?
Who are you!? I yell, and then it stops altogether. It listens, and listens very closely, perfectly silent.
Who are you? I call once more, wondering. It starts suddenly, surprised. Maybe a little fearful a first, but then curious, wondering.
“…Kill her!” an old voice yells, abruptly shattering my focus.
“I ain’t going ta!” Falls bellows back.
Arguments again, and at the worst moment too. The other mind is gone, possibly because I can’t focus with them bellowing. Why are they so loud? Potent emotion is present well, though anger is only present in Falls. The other one is more afraid.
Within my wrappings, I feel better, stronger. I’m healing, and a little faster than I would have guessed I would. Something the minotaur did I suppose. That’s good. Maybe I might even be able to walk soon.
The voices stopped at last, though no minotaur is coming to me. It seems a little strange. Falls or his wife always come by when I wake or soon after, but this time…
I hear hoofsteps now. I wonder if I should ask anything, and settle on a minor expression of frustration.
“It took you long,”
“Shut up.”
I pause, not recognizing the female that enters. First, she’s big, almost as big as Falls. Her fur is very black, and her face seems caught in a permanent scowl.
She stomps over, very obviously upset at having to be here altogether. “Falls asked me to come on by and help you out.” she explains, though it sounds more like she is complaining about it. “My name’s Ebony.”
I already do not like her. And as she works to unwrap me with all the tenderness of somepony handling rocks, I like her even less.
“That hurts!”
“Sorry.” she lies, only faintly softening her work, and thankfully finishing quickly. I look at my legs as she does. Broken chitin and exposed skin is there, but I can see some new growth. A week or so and I’ll have a whole new layer.
She hums, and picks a piece of chitin off, making me hiss at the sudden burn. I hiss a little more at her, baring my fangs at her. She doesn’t seem to care, eyeing the piece she holds.
“This looks like it doesn’t really belong.” she says.
“Don’t touch me.” I hiss, and hiss more when she looks at me. I feel threatened.
“This will go much better if you just lose all this.” she says, less a suggestion and more a declaration of intent.
“If you dare to,” I begin, only for her hand top lash out and seize my neck rather violently. She is just under the amount of pressure needed to snap my neck.
“Stay still.” she commands, and as the faintest twitch from me, her grip increases just faintly, a dire warning. Then she begins picking my legs free of their broken chitin while I stay still fearing she would crush my neck.
I am in agony when she finally finishes, only holding back tears so I don’t show this monster weakness. I can barely even hear her hum happily to herself and mention that my legs look a lot better before she picks up the bandages. My eyes widen on their own at that.
I am barely breathing as she finishes. This pain is almost as bad as when I first hit the ground. Almost. I stay still, my eyes shut, totally silent, pretending to be dead so she leaves. After a few checks to make sure I was really dead, she finally does. Just in case, I keep my breathing very shallow and slow.
She probably broke my legs. I’m probably crippled, I’d bet my neck is cracked from that terrifying grip she had. The pain would certainly lead me to that conclusion, and she has somehow wrapped me too tightly. I feel not enclosed, but squeezed.
“Chrysalis?”
…Falls?
“…Say somethin. Are ya alright there big girl? Come on, don’t do this ta me…”
I feel him touch me, and at his presence and his sudden touch, I gasp in sudden relief, shuddering in agony.
Falls yells as I start sobbing suddenly, trying to tell him that the bandages are too tight, that I’m in great pain, and that I really, really hate Ebony.
It takes some time for him to calm me down, but he eventually gets me to relax again, loosening the bandages and at least somewhat easing my pains.
And just as I begin relaxing again, the pain fading, he bellows “Ebony! Get in here!”
“Falls!” I yelp in sudden panic.
“Calm down there Chrys.” he murmurs, patting at my head. “I ain’t gonna let her do somethin stupid again. Ebony!”
As she enters, I stare at her with wide, fearful eyes. Falls is in front of me, and he seems protective at least…
“What were ya thinkin?” Falls asks her, a little accusatory.
“What?” she snaps back, defensive in her own right. “I did what you asked me to.”
“Ya hurt her.”
“Healing’s supposed to hurt. Her chitin was falling off anyway and just making it harder to wrap her up.”
“She’s not a minotaur Ebony. She’s a lot more delicate than we are.”
She snorts, and I open my mouth before stopping at her sudden glance. I do not have to be able to read emotions to see that threat. I stay silent.
“Fine then.” she huffs. “I’ll be delicate with little miss whiny.”
“Ya kin say sorry too.”
Ebony abruptly glares, hard, at Falls. Yet he doesn’t even flinch. “What ?” she asks, her voice mad. She is raging inside.
“Apologize.” Falls repeats, staring back at her, though I cannot see his own expression.
I watch the pair, sensing the battle between them. Ebony’s will is bolstered by great anger, seemingly always angry at all times, and easily roused to rage. Yet Falls is simply there, unflinching, unchanging. Like the waterfall he is named after, nothing changes his chosen path.
“…I,” Ebony begins, though Fall’s cuts her off more or less instantly.
“I don’t want ta hear it.” Falls says, his voice curt, short, slightly angry. “I had jus about enough with all o you, ya hear me?”
…All of you?
“…” Ebony sighs, and though her anger is still present, there is something… not unlike understanding. “…Didn’t mean to give you more lava.” she mutters, sighing.
At her odd phrase, Falls sighs as well, relaxing slightly. “Chrys needs help, Ebony. An she’s a lot more delicate than us, maybe more delicate than a youngling. Ya gotta be careful with her, an listen; she knows herself best.”
Ebony nods, huffing faintly. “Alright, Falls, alright. I get it.” She looks to me, and though she lacks the same anger from before, she holds nothing resembling affection or care. “…You’re alright there? Didn’t mean to hurt you.”
I stare back at her, wondering if, perhaps, I would survive snapping at her. Falls is right there after all… Then I think twice.
Falls would not always be there, and there is a chance she would return to ‘help’ me. Best to be nice.
“…It wasn't so bad.” I say. “Are you going to listen a little more?”
“I don’t listen to my own children, but the next time you say something I might pay more attention.” she tells me. I think that’s the best I can get out of her. “You good now, Falls? I got younglings wanting fed.”
He nods, and she leaves. Falls turns back to me.
“I never want her doing anything with me ever again.” I tell him, and he seems caught between mild amusement and taking me seriously. “I mean it Falls!”
“Ebony’s jus a little sharp, Chrys.” Falls says. “She’ll get used ta ya in no time. She’s jus more used ta minotaur needin help, like me and my brother.”
I huff at that. Her caring for anything sounded ridiculous.
Falls pats at me, and even though I can feel his strength, I don’t feel afraid of it. He isn’t about to grab my neck and rip my chitin off of me.
“Actually, did she help any?” Falls asks, and at my look, he clarifies, “Does takin off broken… whatever it is help new stuff grow?”
“…Partly.” I mutter. “Chitin growth can be encouraged by the lack of old chitin, but only because the sensitive flesh underneath is exposed. And I’d sooner let it fall of naturally if you don’t mind.”
Falls nods, interested in the information and accepting of my request. “Sides that, how do you feel Chrys? Better, or worse, an I mean in general, not jus yer legs.”
“…I feel stronger.” I tell him. “I’m getting better, but Falls?”
“Yeah?”
“Chrys?” I ask him.
He nods, confused for a moment before working out what I meant. “If ya want me ta call you Chrysalis instead, that’s fine. It’s jus a nickname; makes a big name smaller, like Falls.”
… Another new feeling. Interesting, and maybe worrisome.
“You may continue to call me Chrys.” I tell him, a decision born of… I don’t know. A faint love for him? It feels like love, has a few of the same traits, but then, I know I do not love Falls. Or do I?
Like I said, worrisome.
Falls grins, and I feel the slightly increased care form him. And that weird little thing in me gets a little stronger in return. I almost feel happier seeing him happy.
I have got to find out what this is and then possibly kill it. I do not like what it is trying to tell me to do, and really don’t like its implications.
Ponies are one thing, but minotaur? Even past that, its normally me who lures them in, not the other way around. And then Falls has a wife, and knows who and what I am, and…
Oh, this is going to go bad someday, isn’t it? I’d bet I could change into a minotaur if I really wanted to…
…
Thank the mother. The idea of me transforming into a minotaur did not encourage me to want to go after Falls. Whatever this is, it is not potent enough to really be considered love.
On the other hoof, it does make me trust him greatly, and be willing to speak to him about things I would normally never speak about. Even allow him to behave in ways toward me I wouldn’t normally allow…
…
Maybe it’s just me changing? Trusting more, forgetting my old scars? Slowly becoming the queen that I wasn't? Letting others close to me, letting them act as they want to, letting their wants to at least share space with my own…
…
It feels so unsafe, yet, I feel better for it. It’s almost hard to let it happen, but I choose to do so. And thinking about it…
I haven’t heard from the ‘old me’ for a while, haven’t I?
… I wonder…
“Hey, Chrys?”
I start faintly, and refocus on Falls.
“Yer doin great.” he tells me, smiling. “An I’m here if ya ever need me, alright?”
I nod, and see him pick himself up and leave me once more. Then he pauses at the door, and looks back, curious.
“You happen ta be allergic ta anythin?” he asks me.
“…No.” I tell him, wondering.
He nods, and heads off, and I can see the idea in him, though I am unable to read it. It makes me feel curious. I haven’t felt curious for… well, ever since I first hatched really. The swarm were my eyes and ears, and there was so little that was a mystery to me.
For changelings, curiosity is not normally a good thing. It means you don’t know something, and things you don’t know can lead to discovery or worse. Commonly a warning sign that maybe you should leave and try again later.
However…
I can trust Falls. I want to change, and not be the same. I want to become who my children deserved. I’ll find myself fighting who I once was, and then fighting to enter these strange, unknown, changes in me. The ones that seem almost frightening, the ones I don’t know. I need to let them happen, and nurture them. Falls will aid me, and with him, I can,
“Obsidian?”
I look, and see Nugget near me again, Spark lingering near him. I have to drive them off, but curiosity compels me to wait, and listen first. As does a smaller thought in me, suggesting that maybe it would be… good practice for later. It’s just enough to make me hesitate, and listen.
“I made you a gift.” Nugget says, and holds up…what looks a little like a clay figurine that faintly resembles me. He has made it badly to say the least.
I should…
…
He waits for me to judge it, a faint hope that I would find it acceptable, a faint fear that I would not. He so dearly wishes that I will accept it, and with accepting it, that maybe I would accept him…
He still recalls how I pushed them away earlier, and wants to be closer. Wants that I smile at him. Spark has the same feelings, though his are more unformed, weaker, possibly due to his younger age.
They both look up to me somehow. Their earlier comments come to mind; do they possibly think me something powerful or simply inspiring?
…
I shouldn’t let the children close to me… I shouldn’t, I really, really shouldn’t…It’s so dangerous, they’re far too easy to twist, but…
…I so dearly want to…
“Thank you.” I tell him, and he beams, and I…
I feel torn in half over this. Half of me smiling back, happy to see him happy, seeing my children in his simple mind and face. Half of me terrified that I will do something to his tiny mind so easy to twist and manipulate.
He places it next to me, and moves back, still smiling. I think he’s waiting for me to say something more.
“…Let me rest.” I tell him, shifting and sighing. “Go play elsewhere.”
He nods, says, “Get better Obsidian” and then he and Spark hurry off, the sound of their little hooves soon fading.
I look at it again. Really, it could resemble any unicorn. It seems odd.
I would have once simply discarded it without a second thought. It’s not worth anything, and nearly counts as a waste of clay. I would have dismissed him outright actually, the moment I was aware of him being nearby.
But now, I find… something more in the lumpy figure. As though there is something about it that goes beyond form and make. Looking at it, I see him, and recall his eager nervousness as he waited for my opinion. I can see him making it, thinking about me and trying to make his clumsy hands form the clay properly. I wonder what he might have felt, making this…
…
I…
I can imagine how to use this. I can see his mind, see the working of it.
See how to use it.
My recovery is quick, and will be quicker soon from love gained, and young give love eagerly. I’ll stand on my own hooves soon enough, and then…
I look to the figure, and scowl. I see… unicorns in it, and in particular, a little purple one. A purple unicorn who’s eyes see too much, and who’s just stupid enough to have an unintentional way to identify ponies…
All my young, dead, by her hooves, I know it. Candance wouldn’t have come out unless she was there, she was there with the young alicorn during that moment… So many young dead by her magic, her and her friends…
My children ! My swarm, my children, my precious , starving children, slain by them! I weep for their loss, for my pride that let her live, but I shall avenge them! In pony blood will the names of the fallen be inscribed, their cities crushed under my hooves… Or…
Or I could do something better. After all…
Minotaur have no love for ponies.
… A little manipulation is all I would need. They might even willingly fight for me and mine. And really…
I don’t want to drain them, or turn them into mindless drones. They’ve earned that I think. Of course, that will mean I recover slowly, and will be able to lay only a few if any eggs, but then, that gives me time to convince them to fight.
I glance at the figure again, and smile. A little thought, and it is placed nearby where it will be safe. Furry and strange, sure, but the little ones make me smile. They will be good practice for when I one day lay my own. And they shall aid me in convincing their parents to fight too.
I relax, gently shifting, feeling both my recovery and Ebony’s minor abuse to me. I smile a little more in my thoughts.
Seeing ponies fighting minotaur will no doubt be amusing.
And when Ebony shows her ‘care’ to those that slew my children…
I chuckle even now as I drift to sleep.
I wake troubled, and distressed. My heart beats hard and fast from dim emotions that swiftly fade from me. Sounds and images, blurred together, warped and twisted beyond any identification, rage within my head for a fleeting instant before they are gone.
In the moment after, as I lie disorientated and confused, pain grips me, strong and firm. That destroys what little knowledge I did retain, and I scream into the void around me. It thankfully fades soon as I shudder, leaving me with a persistent and potent ache, and…
…
A tiny call. I can feel it more than hear it, sensing how my cry of pain is disrupted ever so slightly.
I force myself to silence, trying to hear. Its voice is nothing, barely anything, but I hear it.
It is a babble of confusion, fear, even terror. Trembling in those emotions, yet having a determined, detailed desire to help woven ever so delicately in the trembles.
Is this the voice I heard before? Again, it is as if it is mad, a mass of thought and emotion all twisted together, sent out weakly and distantly, difficult to hear or understand.
It begins to fade, and I call out, Wait!
I feel it no longer, but I still reach for where it was, and call out, Are you there!? Do not leave yet, for I am here!
For a few moments, my voice alone rings out into the void around me. And then, weakly, I feel it again, its tiny voice again disrupting my own as it radiates out. It is weaker at first, but then calls out its own cry.
It is barely anything, a nothing cry, but it is the strongest call it has made yet. I do not have to listen to hear it, but find its message, or lack of message, confusing. What does it mean by it?
Who are you? I call out to it, trying to move closer, listening closely.
I feel it again, though it is someplace other than where I have gone. I hear it whisper of recognition, but even as I try to follow it, I find I cannot. Each ripple comes from a single point, but it as if the mind lies everywhere save where I am.
I find it incredibly upsetting that I cannot. It is my sole companion in this void of mind I exist within, and to be unable to do more than hear it distantly and weakly is unacceptable. I wish to know of it, be able to actually talk with it, find out why it babbles.
Where are you!? I call out. How do I find you!?
Again, I feel it respond. Weak and distant and ever shifting, somehow incredibly distant and yet so very close to me. Confusion lies dominant, a weak sensation of happiness and another of wonder buried under the fog of ignorance.
Why can I not reach it? Why can I not find it? It doesn’t…
I sense it before it comes. I cannot respond to it, quailing in fear before it.
A wave, a sea, an ocean of pain and agony washes across the void. It screams, even before it truly arrives, of pain and sorrows and regrets enough to rip things apart.
It hits me, and I scream within it, shutting the gates of my mind too late and finding even my capable barriers not enough to prevent it from leaking within.
At first, it shreds me apart, cutting and slicing and stripping me down to the lowest part of my mind. It washes all around me without end, a sea of fire and blades I am caught within. And yet, this pain, this regret, this sorrow…
My own is stronger.
The pain of nearly dying. The pain of having my body near crippled, the pain of crashing and breaking and shattering upon unforgiving earth and trees. It is more.
The regret of my past, the regrets that mount ever higher with each memory recalled. The regret that led me to condemn myself. It is more.
The sadness I felt when I realized what I lost, and what I had and never noticed until it was gone. The agony when my last child died in my legs, not just him, but them all, forgiving me. It is more.
They are all stronger, and this ocean cannot overcome them. It rips and tears and screams, but I will not be overcome.
For my children, I endure.
…
I feel… warm, and wet. Weightless, in part, a wonderful encompassing wet warmth holding me.
I remember when I first woke inside my egg. The comforting embrace of the fluid within, supporting my growing body, feeding me as I required. It was only a short time before it dried and I had to break free, but each instant of floating in that paradise was perfection.
This is nothing in comparison, but similar.
My mind is weak and confused, memories weakly coming and fading away. It is difficult to think.
And painful, in part. My body aches, even in the forgiving and kind warm, and my mind itself feels pained.
The wave.
That is what caused that.
I endured it then. My mind remains unbroken. I am still alive.
What about the other? Has the strange mind survived as well? Was its strangeness enough to protect it from the crushing ocean?
I cannot listen for now. Perhaps, when I first assumed my place, I felt the same strain on my mind as I first became aware of the swarm and the mind scape, but this is different.
I was born to claim command of the swarm. It was the most I had ever done, but all I was meant to accept and bear that.
This strain, on the other hoof, was born of some unnatural ocean of agony, and I should likely rest before attempting to listen or call, lest I invite more pain.
It might not be gone just yet.
So, refocus.
What is wet and warm and not, I now notice, fully encompassing me?
My form resists me, and I find it uninviting. Pain is there to greet me, and it is no little thing. Still, curiosity drives me onward, and I groan as I come to myself.
The warmth helps, but the pain is an ache, one that near forces me to try and move despite the pain such actions bring. It spikes as I shift, but as I do so, it calms again as I finish, leaving me with an uncomfortable, but not too bad, ache everywhere.
I hear the splash of water. A shift of a leg makes enough, and I feel it leave the wet before another splash heralds its return.
I open an eye to see a rocky surface, possibly the ceiling. I groan again as I move to try and sit up, only for a spike of agony to make me gasp and hiss, a sudden shift in balance making me slip further into the water and leave my head resting on the side of something.
That’s the bed I was on I see in front of me. And as I continue to become aware, numbness fading away, I’m fairly sure I’m in some giant bucket of water. Bubbly water.
“Falls?” I croak, finding my voice a touch weak. A few coughs later and I try again, “Falls!”
…Nothing. Either he’s too far way to hear, or I’m being far too quiet for him to hear anyway. I don’t think I’m up to screaming for him, so I’m going to relax and wait instead.
Shifting my head and very carefully lowering myself more into the water, I try and take stock of myself.
I ache and the ache seems born of stillness based on the need to move. A good sign, as that means my body has healed enough to want to try moving again.
My left hind leg still stings from my attempt to sit up, more so than any other leg as well. A tinge of irritation comes to mind as I recall Ebony was particularly rough with that one. She likely caused that.
Based on how the wood of the bucket isn’t irritating or painful, I am likely growing my new chitin. I am not going to thank Ebony for that even if her ripping all the old off was likely the impetus for the new growth.
The rest of me still feels weak and my wings remain firmly on my back. Not unexpected, as they are going to be the last thing to recover and will likely require me to shift at least twice, to one form and then back again, before they can recover.
Still, I feel better.
Last I remember…
I was planning revenge. Now though, I wonder if I really should be doing so as I look for the little figurine Nugget gave me.
…Still there. Good.
As for the revenge via minotaur plan.
If I were to do so at all, I would have to take care to ensure my old mistakes didn’t repeat. And then I would have to think of a new plan involving minotaur, because the ponies weren’t about to have another royal wedding and be far more cautious and aware of changeling infiltration otherwise. And because minotaur cannot fly and thus would have to climb the mountain.
However, is it really the best thing for me to do? Wouldn’t chasing after revenge only be ultimately useless and possibly disastrous again? Given a new chance, I could just build a whole new life amongst the minotaur. Maybe I could find a happy and peaceful life amongst them for the rest of my life span and find some other way of life outside of being a changeling queen.
Maybe I could simply forget that ponies humiliated me. That is was ponies who saw to my breaking.
That it was ponies who slaughtered my precious children when they laid helpless and terrified in the dark of the night.
Definitely a ‘minotaur storming Canterlot’ plan it is then.
If I could have it so the minotaur did it willingly and supplied me with love in the process would be the icing on the cake. The look on their faces when they find out that the minotaur aren’t being mind controlled or manipulated would be glorious .
I can already see it. Ponies are so stupid, so weak, so small. Earth ponies would crumple under them, magic would do nothing.
And they’d never see a minotaur infiltrator coming.
I chuckle as I imagine it, relaxing in the water, smiling.
“Chrys?”
Calls for mercy unanswered, their heroes humiliated and broken before them.
“Chrys!”
I jolt from my happy daydream and see Falls, grinning hugely as he enters.
“Yer up!” he says, kneeling next to the bucket to get more no my level. I smile again, and I’m not totally sure why. “I was gettin real worried bout you.”
“Were you?” I asked him, finding a rather unfamiliar concern, “Why?”
“Ya slept fer a couple o days. Ya looked mighty troubled fer most o it too.” Falls tells me. “Ya kept on thrashin about.”
A moment passes before he asks me, “Is something real wrong Chrys?” with sincere worry for me.
I find his concern for me stunning, for some reason. I find I worry in turn, and wonder why, precisely, he so easily rouses emotion from me as I try to think what to tell him.
I cannot describe the mind scape to him, his mind isolated and alone in perfection. At the same time, I don’t want to show weakness… or perhaps I don’t want to worry him farther.
…
“…I likely slept that long due to my healing.” I say. “I am recovering, but I was shattered before; and even healing is painful, due to that.” He nods, vaguely understanding, and…
I didn’t like lying to him like that.
“…Why am I in this bath?” I ask him, trying to ignore that dislike.
“At first, cause ya needed one.” Falls tells me. “But when I got ya in, ya made a happy sigh an smiled, so I decided ta leave ya in. Yer enjoyin it, right?”
…
“Yes.” I tell him, sighing. It feels wrong to admit it, but I truly do enjoy this. More so, I trust Falls… I think.
“That’s good.” He says, and he reaches towards me. I only idly wonder why, even when he reaches into the water to gently pick up one of my legs, holding it up to examine.
The chitin is regrowing, my leg mostly black once again. I know it will be uncomfortable once it starts to truly return, but it is pleasant to see it doing so.
Falls gently shifts it, and I wince a little in response. “Still hurt, huh?” he asks, and I sigh and nod.
“I was shattered , Falls.” I repeat. “I am getting better, but my legs are still broken.”
Falls nods, replacing my leg with a surprising gentleness. I wonder a moment, and then, thoughtful, ask, “What do you know about changeling queens, Falls?”
He hesitates, and then says “Not much.”
“I heard something that did, before. Who was that, and why did they know when you didn’t?”
“That was Granma.” Falls tells me. “An she knows lots o stuff I don’t. Bet ya heard her yellin, but ya don’t have ta worry; we’re on yer side, an nothing’s gonna change that.”
…
I really need to get a grip on this ‘half’ love thing.
I just felt Falls give me a bit of love. That was normal, if a touch surprising.
I just felt me give him a bit of love, which is very not normal and I suddenly have a pressing need to figure out what’s going on with me.
Thank the mother that Falls cannot sense emotions.
“Could you ask her what she knows, and why?” I ask him, doing my best to ensure I’m not blushing or something equally stupid. My own voice sounded strange at the start of that…
“Sure.” Falls says, nodding, and giving no indication he felt anything was strange, to my relief. “Any reason why?” he asks.
There is a reason; it has to do with that great wave from before.
But right now, I mostly have very vague ideas, and I don’t want to try to explain to Falls.
“Curiosity.” I tell him, and take some refuge in that that wasn’t a strict lie; I am curious, and feel that knowing that might help me understand. He nods, and I tell him, “Get me back to bed and rewrap me; the water’s getting cold.”
“I think ya forgot a word in there.”
I hesitate, staring at him, confused. Forgot a word?
“Come on Chrys, we went over this.” He says, and I feel a tinge of irritation; he has a vague disappointment mixed with amusement. “Th magic words!” he says, smiling.
…
“Please.” I say, feeling… I don’t even know! I can’t look him in the eyes and I don’t know the name for this feeling, but I don’t like it!
“Please what?”
Dear mother, no, stop !
“Falls, stop!” I yell, wanting to cover my face with my hooves but finding that I can’t. Instead, I lean back, and stare at the ceiling.
He only laughs, and repeats, “Please what, Chrys?”
…I, I need to focus. He’s not being the worst thing ever; he’s trying to help me. This is the worst thing ever, but it’s supposed to help me.
I hate it, I hate how it makes me feel, I hate that he can see what I’m feeling, and I really hate that stupid grin he has!
It takes a little while, but, eventually, I manage to say, “Please get me back to the bed and rewrap me.”
“There we go!” Falls says happily, which makes it worse in some ways as he gently grabs my barrel and lifts me up. “You did good Chrys!”
“Stop. Please.” I mutter, again feeling that…
This is terrible and horrible and the worst thing ever; I know what he wants and why he’s trying to be encouraging but it’s all horrible .
And yet, somehow, it’s… nice? A good thing? Meant to help, and I…
I don’t actually know how I feel about it anymore.
At least once I’m dried and rewrapped, I can relax in some comfort. My pain is mostly gone; and I note I don’t like Falls leaving, though I remain silent as he does so.
…The only bonds in the world I know of are love, and hate. Stronger, weaker, it doesn’t really matter; other than the occasional lack of any love or hate, all thinking things love or hate those they know. And yet, and yet, this… whatever it is I feel towards Falls is neither love nor hate.
But what could it be?
Why do I feel safe and comfortable around him? Why do I allow him to speak to me like he does, to force me to embarrass myself like he just did? Why was he so clearly determined to protect me? Why is he so clearly worried at the slightest hint of something troubling me? Why is he so determined to… reform me, I suppose; to help me not become the old scarred queen.
It would be so, so easy to say it’s love, but that’s not true! I do not love Falls, and he does not love me! And yet, and yet, this, this thing is like love, close enough that I sometimes misidentify it, and yet, so different it’s silly to think it love.
…Maybe it doesn’t matter. I’m almost able to stand on my own legs again. With Falls’… donation, I’ll be better much…
By the mother, why am I embarrassed, thinking about that?
…I don’t care anymore!
Sleep, get back on my legs, and then I can bother with trying to understand this stupid thing! It will make much more sense once I am no longer helpless, I’m sure.
…Pretty sure.
I hope.