Unlike Any Other

Things had been teetering on the edge of the absurd for far too long for Marciano, and the line had been crossed so many times. It was a wonder how he still retained his sanity. Perhaps he hadn’t come out of that egg mentally sound, but he had calmed down since then; Marciano had even gotten a drink and meal, so he didn’t have to worry about that particular demand.

Then the Pender woman had suddenly gotten the head of a man due to some green fire. Marciano had reacted about as well as one was expected to in such a situation. For God’s sake, how else could he have taken it? It was something beyond human possibility: it was logically impossible! He had lived through a Camusian nightmare, and now this?

The large insect had asserted itself rather quickly and, by means that Marciano didn’t understand, had gotten Pender to revert her form and to piss herself. That poor woman was driven to tears by it, and it acted as if it hadn’t meant it. The cleaning and the hug were a rather convincing act, but Marciano wouldn’t be fooled by it, not like the Montgomery fellow.

He saw those dagger-like fangs; he saw that wicked horn; he saw those alien blue eyes. Such things belonged on a predator. In spite of that terrifying form, both of his companions were seeking reassurance and warmth from such a creature, as if it were their mother!

Americans, Vargas thought disappointedly to himself. So easily swayed.

His observation from the sideline didn’t go unnoticed by the creature, and it seemed to cast a saddened look on him. Marciano’s lips tightened. That kicked-puppy-look wouldn’t work on him; both it and its ilk had done something to his mind and those of the Americans. How else could he explain the conflicting thoughts and instincts that had been warring within him?

He had questions, and he would get answers.

Careful not to let it show, Marciano felt some relief as Pender’s features tightened up, indicating the return of her motor functions. She muttered something under her shaky breath and wiped away her tears. The words went by unnoticed, but her emotions were as clear as day, as were those of both Montgomery and the creature.

Part of Marciano urged him to join in the reconciliatory session, and he suspected that even his former human self longed to do so as well. He did not give in to the temptation: he was fairly sure that the Americans’ reaction was genuine, but he could not trust the creature. If not because of his suspicions of its true intentions, he didn’t partake in this get-together because Marciano wanted to focus on Montgomery’s words.

DC… the capital of the United States. What was it about that almost offhand mention that had since been tugging at his mind?

Marciano’s memories right before his becoming aware in the egg had been hazy, unreachable things. All that he could recall clearly was his arrival at DC with his fellow colleagues of the theatre company. They were there to perform Vegas’s The Steel of Madrid, but…

He ignored the world around him to concentrate; the two Americans were emergency response personnel if he understood correctly. The firefighter in particular itched at Marciano, but he couldn't understand why. There were far too many things that he wasn't able to understand as of late, and Marciano did not like it one bit.

He was about to give up when one memory finally seemed to coalesce: a droning ringing; a look of surprise from Héctor; then the fire and—

“Recuerdo,” Marciano muttered incredulously, almost as if he were out of breath. He looked to Montgomery and approached just as their get-together ended. “Do you remember what happened?” he asked the American. “Before the egg, I mean.”

“Come on, man,” Montgomery said with a groan. “Is this really the time?”

“It is,” Vargas stated resolutely. “Think: where were you before you woke up in the egg?”

The American’s palatinate eyes narrowed and focused on nothing in particular. His jaw drooped slightly as he thought over it. “I don’t—” Montgomery shook his head. “I don’t remember.”

“What’s your last memory?” Vargas asked, inching close enough to reach him.

“I...” Hackett was blinking profusely. “God, it’s all hazy,” he grumbled, working his jaw in frustrated thought. “I remember being in the lounge room of the Engine House with…” There was a momentary pause, and a curious emotion boiled over quickly before it dissipated just as quickly. “With my colleague, yeah,” he finally said. “We were just finishing up after taking a break from a‒ an overdose call I think, but…”

Marciano drew closer to the firefighter. “Were you called for a fire at the Arena Stage?”

Again, Montgomery failed to provide a quick reply and instead stumbled over his words. “I don’t know. Maybe?”

Vargas drew a breath and let it out in a thoughtful hum. The Pender woman had been let down and had come closer to the two of them. “How about you, miss?”

“Missus,” she answered automatically, but her word hung in the air. “And I… I was starting my shift at Gateway. That’s all I remember before it gets fuzzy.”

Marciano mulled over their words: the two were present at their respective stations, last they recalled. Just how much of this was a coincidence?

“I think I know what happened,” he said, loud enough to perk up everyone’s ears, even the large insect’s. He eyed both of the Americans and took a deep breath. “The Arena Stage, DC: I was part of a troupe performing a play at the, uh, Kogold Cradle.”

“The Mead Center?” Karlene asked thoughtfully, having apparently recovered from her earlier embarrassment.

Vargas nodded. “The same.” He spared a moment to glance at the curious gaze of the large insectoid. It fixed its absurdly large eyes upon him, two different seas of blue that shone like the waters of the Mediterranean on a cloudless day. They both called to Marciano, begging him to lower his defences.

Just like the Mediterranean however, he knew that they could turn in an instant and become dangerous to him if he didn’t keep a careful eye on the creature. Mindful of it, Marciano continued.

“We were finishing the first act when the fire alarm rang. I ran out, then…”

Something large and heavy came down upon Marciano, barely missing his head but catching his right leg with a terrible weight. He had screamed himself raw from the fractured leg for some time, and Héctor had to leave him because of the thickening smoke. The last thing he saw was a light that cut through the billowing blackness and a figure that appeared from nothing. It was clad in tan suit with two strips of white retroreflectors, axe in gloved hands and face obscured by the smoke.

Vargas thought he heard an interrogative from the person, but he couldn't make out the words. His response was wracked by a coughing fit before it all went black.

“Then I was trapped by something,” Marciano managed to say, looking expectantly to Franklyn. “A firefighter found me before I lost consciousness.”

Montgomery’s eyes widened. Stuttering, he said, “Wait, you think that I found you?”

Vargas wanted to frown, but he considered the question. There were far too many holes in his logic to call his conclusion as anything beyond coincidence, but something in Marciano was convinced that he was right. They were all here; they must have all been involved in the same thing that had brought them here. Was his hypothesis really that much of a leap in logic with everything considered?

Eventually he nodded. “Si. You or one of your colleagues did.”

“I…” Montgomery draped one of his forelimbs —possibly a hoof?— over his snout and rubbed. “I mean, now that you mention it, I do remember being at the Arena Stage.” The hoof then began to tap the side of his nose. “There was… a body? No, someone trapped under a girder. I remember pushing it off and carrying them out. Made it outside and was heading to a… to a waiting para, but—”

“A flash,” said Pender suddenly, garnering curious looks from both Vargas and Franklyn. “And heat. A lot of heat.”

Her troubled emotions were very telling, and Vargas’s jaw clenched as he considered the implications. Could it have been…?

“An explosion?” Franklyn asked incredulously. “From what? We cut the gas and power before we go in, so unless someone fucked up…” He checked himself, and, with a sigh and another hoof brought to his face, he muttered, “Ah shit, that's exactly what happened, wasn’t it?”

Karlene gazed at the dirt, saying nothing but affirming with her true feelings.

Something within Marciano stirred, and he felt his breath waver momentarily. He had suspected during the hell that he had gone through, but he now had what was essentially a confirmation: he had died, as had the Americans.

It was a strange sensation; it was as if the cold, skeletal hand of Death itself had reached into Vargas’s soul and clenched it for a mere moment, with numbness rolling all over his being. For an instant, both he, Pender, and Franklyn had been ripped out from their mortal coils. The back of his neck burned; he didn’t like thinking about it back in the egg, and he certainly didn’t like to do so now.

But, for whatever reason, the hand had let go. The numbness melted away, and his breathing returned. Marciano had survived. They all had.

For the first time since he had been reincarnated, the man finally cried.

“What now?” Sclerite said in a huff.

Farris had begun to sob after the three had finished their unintelligible conversation. Unintelligible, but Sclerite had managed to follow the tone of it. If she understood correctly, it was the same fretful and macabre tone than one used when discussing death. Yet another instance that her three siblings had an intelligence that belied their age. Why in Hatcher’s name would younglings be talking about death of all things?

The nurse began to move to begin comforting him —whether he wanted to or not, Sclerite hadn’t missed his distrustful demeanour— but she stopped short as she took a moment to pay closer attention to his smells.

Farris was… glad?

His lips twitched upwards, and his small teeth flashed in the darkness. No, he wasn’t glad, he was relieved. Why though? Sclerite wanted to think it over, but the distinct sound of hooves on gravel carried over the connecting tunnel with an accompanying smell that was unmistakable. Mother.

Sclerite hissed a curse and acted quickly. Farris couldn’t be seen like this, so she approached to wipe his tears away. He, of course, loudly resisted all the while.

“Please don’t,” she begged. “Think of how Mother would react if she sees you like this.”

Farris either didn’t understand or didn’t care, because he let out a loud protest in whatever zany language his was as she tried to make him presentable. “Will you please pipe down?”

“Sclerite?” said a slightly authoritative voice.

The nurse felt a twitch in between her neck plates as both she and Farris fell silent. She carefully lowered her sibling and turned to face the newcomer. Surprisingly, Mother was nowhere in sight. Rather, it was an embarrassed Petiole in her stead.

He closed in. “What are you doing?” he asked in a harsh yet quiet voice, narrowed eyes and smells underscoring his words. “Why was he crying?” Sclerite’s ears drew back but she otherwise did not respond. “Gamma, Mother is right outside waiting to see her children. How will I explain her son’s tears, hm?”

“Different,” she said under her breath. Was that supposed to be an answer to the Alpha, however? Maybe it was just a part of herself stating the obvious. As she chewed on the thought, her eyes shifted over towards the three nymphs; Farris’s tears weren’t obvious anymore, but they had left streaks of a sheen that followed the same path that the tears had rolled off of his chitin. Both the worker and warrior looked fine, but like their drone clutchmate, their anxiety and unease were all too palpable. Mother would immediately notice that, and she would be none too happy about it.

Needless to say, Sclerite was concerned, though not necessarily about Mother’s reaction or the prospect of a well-deserved punishment. No, she looked on to the three younglings. They needed a good nurse, yes, but they needed someone else to help them. Who exactly, she wasn’t sure. Perhaps a healer—not of the body, but one of the mind and soul.

Sclerite again found herself cursing at her limited skill sets, even though she really had no reason to do so: she was a nurse first and foremost. She was taught the craft, for she did not need any other.

Blinking the thought away, she addressed Petiole. “Alpha, if I may?”

He clearly had a half a mind to outright refuse her if his furrowed brow was anything to go off from. “What is it?”

“The nymphs may have emerged hours ago, but they are far older.” Sclerite momentarily glanced at Farris, thinking back on his previous emotions. “They’ve been talking in their language of theirs, and while I couldn’t really follow any of it…” She locked her eyes with Petiole’s. “They were discussing about death.”

The Alpha’s eyes widened. “Death? What do you– how would you know that?”

“Their smells,” she replied, though the worker realised just how absurd she sounded. Yes, a changeling’s sense of smell was nearly peerless, acute enough to distinguish a creature’s emotions with a whiff. A changeling’s nose was good, very good, but was it good enough to tell what caused the emotions that it caught wind of?

All that Sclerite had done, she realised, was infer that they were speaking about death.

It was a massive leap of logic; she knew as much, as did Petiole’s unimpressed expression. The stink eye that he threw her way was all but deserved.

And yet…

The drone blinked slowly. “Duly noted,” he said in a near-mutter. He instead picked Farris up with his magic. Gentle as he was, Farris’s budging and protests were uncalled for. Where Sclerite was expecting such behaviour, Petiole was left flustered.

“We don’t have time for this, brother,” he muttered under his breath while wiping clean Farris’s cheeks and giving him another once-over. “It’ll have to do for now.” The Alpha looked over to Sclerite. “I’ll let Mother in now, so make sure that all of the little ones are on their best behaviour. We wouldn’t want a repeat of earlier.”

As if they would at this age, Sclerite thought somewhat cynically, almost expressing it with her glands. She decided that it was best not to rile the nest, so kept her opinion to herself as she went to see the nymphs.

She put on her best smile and put out her best smells. “Alright,” she said in a hopeful voice. “Are we ready to meet mommy?”

It had been several hours since Chrysalis’s introduction to her newest children, and she had recovered from their rejection. At least, that’s what she told herself, because if she had not, then the entire Hive would be feeling the consequences of it. She had to smell fine, lest all of her children joined in her suffering. That was easily the last thing that she wanted for them, so she had to stay strong for them; even if Farris, Lancea and Scape denied Chrysalis her love, she’d soldier through it.

Even if it kills me on the inside, she thought bitterly to herself.

Chrysalis had allowed for Petiole to go before her. The reason went by unspoken but was understood. There was a reason why he was an alpha nurse, and while his own skills with hatchlings and nymphs were a substantial part of it, they alone would not warrant a nurse to be of alpha status. Such nurses, in a manner not dissimilar to those of labourers and those of other professions, had to be able to delegate and lead. This, of course, meant that alphas had to be able to fully understand the Queen’s instructions and commands. The best alphas could infer her demands without so much as a querying smell. Petiole was one such alpha.

So she waited for his all-clear. Much as Chrysalis was steeled this time, the Alpha clearly did not want a repeat of the first encounter. A smile crept up on her features. All of the Hive cared for her, but Petiole seemed to go above and beyond his station. His role played a part in this, no doubt about it.

Still, there had been an undercurrent of tension as the two of them approached the separate chamber. It remained once Chrysalis was left alone to wait. That anxiety offered fuel to the burning questions that had lingered since what had happened, to which she still had no satisfactory answers.

Chrysalis sighed and rolled her shoulders. She felt her plates click and clack with the movements and the stiff muscles relax somewhat. It wasn’t nearly enough to remove the tension that was by then well and truly entrenched in her upper back and withers, but it was something.

“A fresh start,” she said in a hush, barely loud enough to echo in the tunnel. This time things would go far better, Chrysalis decided.

Petiole’s waft arrived before the scratching of chitin upon compacted dirt announced his arrival. There were no words, only an understanding. He bowed his head and stood aside for her to enter first.

There was a lingering smell that made Chrysalis’s nostrils twitch instinctively: apprehension from young nymphs. She immediately felt her neck muscles tense up. This seemed like it would just be another rehash of before. In spite of that, the Queen bit back her fears and dispelled such thoughts from her mind. She would not be caught off guard again, nor would she allow herself to waver as before.

A happy queen was a happy hive, after all.

The sound of skittering hooves was the only thing that reached Chrysalis’s ears that did not perk up her attention; it was the most obvious, but Chrysalis thought that she had caught a faint and hushed call. Lips thinned, she did not like this inauspicious start.

“Your children, Mother,” came Petiole’s measured voice. He was at the right-hoof side of the semi-straight line of the three clutchmates, bowing. The gamma nurse on the left wordlessly mirrored him. Whatever the three little ones had been doing prior to Chrysalis’s arrival, her appearance had stilled them to a terse silence that was both worryingly familiar and foul-smelling to the Queen.

She held back her compulsion to swallow. Chrysalis knew not to repeat the same mistakes as last time.

The large changeling lowered herself onto her belly close to their level. They all drew back slightly to this, especially Lancea, but did not otherwise appear overly distressed. Good, thought Chrysalis. She had kept the usual compassion smells to a minimum so as not to overwhelm them like the last time, but the warm smile, albeit restrained, was authentic this time.

In fact, she felt a certain energy welling up within herself.

“Hello, children.” She spoke softly and slowly, maintaining an even tone in anticipation of the magical beat that was to come. “We have much to discuss.”

There was much running through Karlene’s head. There was the revelation from Vargas to unpack, her want to confront the fact that she had died, and now the newcomer (a male, an inner voice within Karlene had hinted) that was currently busy manhandling the Spaniard. At a glance, it looked as if it was doing the same as the other had done to her. There was no overlooking the lack of care in the display. The way that Marciano was shifted about in mid-air was by no means rough, but there was little concern in response to his rather vocal protests. Even without her Spanish lessons, Karlene could easily infer his demands and defiance.

Despite how so many things called for Pender’s mind, she couldn’t help but wonder why she and the others were being given so much attention to their appearance. The first adult had even done what it could do to comfort her. A voice similar to the one from before insisted that it was simply what siblings did (that was another scary thought to mull over!), but there had to be more to it. Karlene didn’t think that brothers and sisters, even large four-legged bugs, didn’t coax each other into sitting in a line just for the hell of it.

Montgomery piped up. “Why are they dolling us up?”

Karlene felt her throat tense up in an attempt to speak, which was unsuccessful. She wanted to second his question and perhaps add something pertinent. Hell, it didn’t need to be coherent so long as she did something besides standing there like a frightened kid!

“Something's coming,” said Vargas in a mutter.

Karlene sensed Monty turning to argue the point, but the male creature hissed a command that was impossible to misunderstand, and Monty promptly shut up. Following the expectant gaze of the female adult, Karlene looked to the hole that led out of the chamber. She heard it before she saw it.

A slender figure slithered horn first through the threshold, its two front legs articulating in ways that would have fractured had they bones. Orbs of greens momentarily flashed in the dark before they disappeared above a rising veil of mossy hairs and lips that contorted around the fangs within. The body righted itself with the joints clicking as plates moved, and stood towering over Karlene.

It was her again.

In this light, the large female was not as imposing as it had first appeared, even though it was at least three or four times Karlene's size. No, it almost seemed like it had changed appearance somehow. The teeth weren’t nearly as sharp or as numerous; her eyes did not glow like before; the horn was not as menacing; the gangly nature of its figure was now sleek. It had somehow grown less menacing.

More motherly.

Despite the sheer absurdity of the mere notion that the creature could ever have been her mother, Karlene could not suppress it. She still held her own precious memories of her actual mother Diana —thank God that I still do— but the overwhelming instinct threatened to replace them anyway. At least, that was the sensation that ran rampant in Karlene’s mind.

Then again, she did have a tendency to lose control of her basest fears when she was stilled by sheer terror. But there was nothing to be fretful about. She was surrounded by family, in her home and being spoken to by her loving moth—

Karlene’s features twitched. No. None of those sentiments were true. None of them. She was stuck in an insect-like body along with two other people in her same predicament, surrounded by alien beings, all the while in an unfamiliar place and being stared down by a massive being that held too many fangs in its mouth. There was nothing of comfort beyond her body, and there was little of it to find within to begin with. Even the sanctity of her own mind was under threat by these foreign instincts and sensations.

All of these thoughts and more raced in Karlene’s mind, but she barely flinched in response. A small blessing, perhaps.

It was during this panic attack that the creature had approached them, though Karlene hadn’t been able to pay much mind to it. The creature wore what could perhaps be a smile, with eyes shining with a soft warm radiance that she hadn’t seen before. Or was it always there, and had she just not noticed it? It was different this time, yes, but something within Karlene insisted that there was an aspect that had not changed, and was simply in full display now. Regardless of the reason, the large being had switched things up since the last time.

Clicks and soft hisses emanated from it. Karlene noted the significantly lower pitch from the other female that made it sound more adult and regal, were that even possible. A part in her guessed that it was perhaps just because it was a different subspecies.

It’s my mother.

Pender twitched again. She needed to think through the cacophony in her mind: the creature was communicating, but she couldn’t make sense out of any of the sounds. The emotions were more muted, but Karlene thought that she could sense anxiety from it. She tried to guess as to the reason why, though she could not with the dozens of other thoughts competing for her undivided attention.

Then something that was completely unexpected pricked her ears and silenced all of Pender’s thoughts.

It was soft, a background sound that never overtook the, for lack of a better of a better term, ‘words’ of the creature. It slowly built up in volume, and it did not take long for Karlene to recognise it–a violin.

A single violin played a muted tune. Her ears searched for the source of it before her eyes did. Even Monty and Vargas were perplexed by the phantom instrument. The other two smaller adults did not seem to have the same question, fixing a smile on their faces instead as they listened intently to the larger female.

The sounds of her ‘words’, while both pleasant and grating to Pender, flowed in tune with the background music. She didn’t think that it was quite singing, just talking in rhythm. Both it and the soft tunes almost reminded her of slow jazz, just without the typical instruments associated with it: perhaps something akin to some of Louis Armstrong or… or some other artist from the era.

Not that Karlene was pondering on attributing an analogous artist, because she was too baffled to focus on anything other than the fact that creature was quasi-singing with the appropriate instrumental accompaniment that was not physically present. Was it all in her head? It would have been a tantalising possibility were it not clear that her two companions were clearly hearing the same thing that she was.

The violin stopped as did the creature. For a moment the whole chamber echoed with the vestiges of the last note and hissed word and–

What the fuck?

What little light there was faded into nothing. Not even the glow of the creatures’ eyes was visible. For a panicked second, Pender looked about and saw that she was left alone with Vargas and Montgomery in a circle of light. They too were at a loss. Where did that come from? Where had the others gone?

Notes from a piano rang out with a sudden column of light appearing to illuminate the great creature, now standing well beyond where the entrance to the chamber had been. The violin was replaced with what Karlene recognised as a grand piano and a drum base. The timing kicked up noticeably, and when the creature resumed her song, the sounds of her words had taken on a merrier tonality. As she walked in pace with the beat upon a raised platform that hadn't existed until then, Pender was left gaping slack-jawed.

This… this couldn’t have possibly been spontaneous. No, this wasn’t even possible with preparation! There could not have possibly been enough time for her to prepare! How was the chamber larger now? How did the lighting work as it was without the appropriate fixtures? None of this made any sense!

The creature stopped, back facing towards the humans, and looked behind her shoulder in time with the song, eyes wide and…

Happy.

Karlene felt her forelimb unconsciously move towards the large adult. There was a swelling energy that pooled within her heart (or where she presumed it was supposed to be) slowly moving up to her voice box. Karlene had experienced this sensation before, but only when she still had musical aspirations as a young teenager; the joy and thrill that one felt before singing. She had on occasion felt compelled to sing or join in song, but there were no doubts as to whether or not Pender had the final say.

As her mouth opened wide and began to vocalise with the song, Karlene was acutely aware of her lack of control.

She felt her mouth move in manners that she hadn’t yet experienced, as clicks and hisses emanated from her along with something else. Karlene’s body was completely unresponsive to her will, and the horrid experience was all too terribly familiar.

Through it all, Pender kept asking what had whisked control away from her, and how. It was clear that it was something that the creature had done to her. Was it like the… the magic that the other female did before? A part of Karlene supposed it so without putting much thought into it, as she was far too concerned with trying to resist whatever spell had been cast upon her. She wanted to berate angrily; she wanted to wrestle herself free; she wanted to plead for her release. None of her wishes came to fruition, as her limbs and appendages acted on their own accord.

Had she perhaps been an outside observer, Karlene would have seen nothing but a jovial scene. The two small adults provided a chorus to the larger one, and Karlene added a supporting vocalisation that added to the beat of the immaterial song. An impromptu musical—nothing more.

It was a nightmarish memory for Karlene.

Only once had she felt so powerless and helpless. It was something that she had done her absolute best to bury into the deepest recesses of her mind, to never again see the light of conscious thought. Pender’s current situation brought back the painful demons of the past to the forefront. In that instance, she had been the direct cause for her weakness and incapacity to respond as she had to. Current circumstances differed from back then, but Karlene hated her inability to do anything just as much, perhaps even more so. Had she not grown past that shameful moment? Hadn’t she become stronger than that?

Her heart faltered, and her past flaws were laid bare for all to see: Karlene was still the scared little lady of yesteryear. Even as the foreign insect sounds finally gained meaning and the song began to make sense, she only scarcely noticed this. She cried back then, and she cried now. Or rather, she wanted to cry now. Among the alien sensation of her body moving without her direction, she felt a wetness welling up in her eyes, and a small tear rolling down her cheek.

It did not appear possible. She wouldn’t be able to break this, just like it had been before, only this time it was that much more insurmountable. It would have been easy to let it end as Karlene had previously; it had been easier, if not particularly graceful of her.

As the song progressed and the words came clearly to her ears, the frightened child within Karlene gazed beyond herself and saw something that brought momentary clarity. There were only four people singing and dancing beside Pender. Vargas, identifiable by his green eyes, was sitting, a good distance away from everyone else. At first, Karlene thought that she was imagining it, but she quickly realised that he was trembling. His wide eyes stared unblinkingly, his hoof-paws jittered, and his jaw tensed, but he was resisting.

Karlene had understood at some point that even Montgomery had been enthralled by the same thing that had taken over her body, and had imagined that if he had not been able to throw off whatever it was, she couldn’t. Seeing Vargas shaking, however…

Her heart flared.

All of her anguish, all of her regrets, all of her ire; they ballooned against the throes of the pall that hung over Karlene. At first, the only visible signs of this defiance was an odd waver to her words and the slight tremor in her dance. As her emotions continued to fight against the forces that had gripped her body, the little imperfections grew ever more evident. Even the two small adults, while they sang something about rising up against a nation or somesuch, cast glances of surprise and concern. The larger one, who was somehow sitting on a rocky formation that resembled an opened oyster shell, hadn’t taken notice as of yet. When she caught wind of Karlene’s break from the routine, Pender was a quivering mess with a voice that kept cracking at every other syllable.

The dam burst, and the puppeting strings were cut. Karlene fell upon her rump and let out a shuddering gasp before scrunching her eyes shut.

The music faded immediately and the chamber was thrown back into the near-darkness from before. Only her soft sobs served as punctuation to the scene of confusion and tangible discomfort. It had hurt, immensely so. Karlene was ashamed that she had to cry as an adult a second time in front of others.

A smile split her face as a quiet heaving that served as a chuckle rang out.

But she was also proud. She had finally conquered that once-insurmountable demon from the past, and in more difficult conditions.

In sounds that were most definitely not English, she said, “If only Anthony could see me now.”

Chrysalis had looked to the winds of music to have done most of the work in easing her children into acceptance. She had perhaps been a bit too trusting in the winds, but as she continued to sing her most intimate feelings, Chrysalis was both surprised and pleased to see Lancea and Scape both indulge themselves along with Petiole and Sclerite. Not just by dancing or humming along, either. They both were forming comprehensive sentences, and not simply mimicking the nurses. Chrysalis’s faith in the winds appeared to have been more than justified. Had a nymph ever learned to speak, let alone sing, so quickly after their emergence? She couldn’t recall such a time, and beamed during her song.

Her grin faltered slightly whenever she spied Farris, however. He was not allowing the winds to guide him. In fact, he was actively defying them. In a sense, Chrysalis was impressed by the display of strong will, but she felt mostly hurt that her child still would not trust her. Despite this pain, she refused to let it spoil her overall good mood; Petiole and Sclerite were enjoying a break from their tedious duties, and Scape and Lancea were finally opening up. Things were finally progressing.

There was, however, something other than Farris that was bothering the Queen.

It had started as a small thing, something that she thought that she had imagined. A watery shine from little Lancea’s eyes. It didn’t take much for Chrysalis to guess as to what it was, but it puzzled her nevertheless: why was Lancea tearing up?

Being such a minute detail, the tears didn’t overly concern Chrysalis, embroiled as she was with her song. As she described the Hive’s destiny above-ground, she decided that they could only have been tears of joy. Of what, she wasn’t entirely sure, but whether they were from Lancea finally understanding her mother or from her learning of her future, Chrysalis couldn’t care less. It was a moment for celebration for everyling in the chamber.

But the nagging sensation did not dissipate. It was a bothersome thing, and Chrysalis had half-a-mind to force the winds to address it. Before she could further dwell upon it, however, the annoyance seemed to become harder to ignore. When she finally spared a glimpse towards it, Chrysalis almost fell to silence.

Lancea was crying, and not out of happiness. The veritable wave of pent up bitterness and indignation washed over her mother, and its size had left Chrysalis aghast and wondering just how she could not have noticed it before.

Four hooves touched the hardened earth with little grace, all joy forgotten, and the magical imagery of victory and utopia faded away into the dimly lit chamber. Chrysalis approached little Lancea, feeling painful stings at every sob. It was a different kind of heartache from earlier; where before the Queen had suffered through a rejection, she now had to bear her nymph’s grief. It was by no means a new sensation, as she had dealt with the pains of their starvation and unfortunate loss of siblings. Their sorrow was not theirs to bear alone, and was one that Chrysalis shared out of a sense of motherly love and duty.

For that was the Queen’s duty: her children were Chrysalis, and Chrysalis was her children. The matters of the warriors, drones and workers were her own matters.

So, she drew close to Lancea to help with the burden. As Chrysalis approached, there was a quiet muttering of almost perfect chirps from the little one. She only caught the tail end of it: something about Lancea being seen. A part of Chrysalis was absolutely thrilled that her daughter had spoken on her own accord —and so well, in fact!— but she was mostly curious about the contented smell about Lancea. It was the sort that one felt after overcoming a tremendous challenge.

Was it Lancea finally speaking as any proper changeling ought to? After a moment of thought, Chrysalis concluded that it wasn’t the case. It was something else that she couldn’t distinguish right then.

Regardless, she continued onwards until the Queen stood above little Lancea. The nymph barely seemed to notice her presence.

“Lancea,” she began, putting on a friendly face and air, but not quite knowing how she wanted to continue.

It was only then that Lancea looked up. Her wonderful soft-yellow eyes shone briefly with tears, and they flicked momentarily away to avoid meeting her mother’s own eyes. Chrysalis was about to tell her not to be afraid, but after tasting something that reminded the Queen of defiance, Lancea met her eyes. She was still afraid, but Chrysalis sensed bravado radiating from the little one.

Lancea’s eyes glimmered again. This time, they were hardened.

“What—” She paused, sounding surprised at the chirp that she made. Her head twitched, and her jaw worked hard as she slowly enunciated. “What did‒ what did you do? Do to me?”

Chrysalis hesitated. The novelty of any of the three nymphs being far more eloquent than they had any right to be had dulled enough that she hadn’t been caught off-guard by Lancea’s formulation of a question. It was the question itself that gave her cause to reflect.

A hum from deep within the Queen’s throat reverberated throughout the chamber. “Do you mean the winds?” she asked, careful with not speaking too fast or using words too complex. When she saw the blank look from Lancea, Chrysalis added, “The winds of music, Lancea.”

The nymph blinked. “Winds of… music?”

“Yes,” Chrysalis said with a nod. Her focus was now only on Lancea, as if they were the only things that existed in the world. “I wanted for you and your siblings to know who you are, Lancea. What you are.”

Lancea’s brow furrowed. Chrysalis feared that perhaps she was too quick for the youngling to understand, but Lancea instead repeated her name, as if tasting it. “Lan-see-ah. Lancea.” She gave Chrysalis a look. “Is that a, ah, is that a title?”

Now it was Chrysalis who looked confused. “No,” she said softly. “It is your name, Lancea.” She looked to both Farris and Scape, as if only then they had come to being. They were flanked by the nurses, but they were looking on with curious eyes. She indicated to them both with a tilt of her head. “Your siblings—your friends: Farris and Scape.”

That earned Chrysalis another bout of curious glances, from Lancea and from Farris and Scape.

“Lancea,” Lancea slowly began, working through the word. “Lancea is not‒ my name is not Lancea.”

There was a sound. Chrysalis didn’t recognise it, nor did she really think that she had heard it to begin with. Despite the seeming impossibility, she was convinced that there had been one. But she did not dwell too much on that.

Chrysalis had a false start. “Not your‒ but Lancea, I named you so.”

“Not my actual name,” Lancea insisted, her fear abating. “I am Karlene Pender.”

Then… then Chrysalis wasn’t sure what happened next.

It was all something of a blur. She recalled hearing Farris and Scape piping up themselves and telling their own names that sounded like no other that she had ever heard: changeling, equestrian or otherwise. But they were emphatic in their assertions of being something that Chrysalis was sure did not exist. There was talk of death, reincarnation and afterlife, and while she caught herself being impressed at the subjects that the nymphs spoke of, Chrysalis did not internalise much of what was said.

Her world was a magical one, and there had been many incredible feats remembered among its inhabitants; if these were not commemorated as history, then they were as legends at the very least. What her children —or whatever they claimed to be— described was not one of these fabled or factual events. She supposed that it wasn’t entirely out of the realm of possibility, but…

“—name?”

Chrysalis drew a quick breath. She turned sharply towards Lan‒ Karlene Pender, who had just finished asking something. “I‒ excuse me, what did you say?”

“Your name?” the small worker asked, sounding as if she were afraid of having said the wrong thing. “Do… do you have one?”

The Queen almost snorted at the question. “Yes, my name is Chrysalis.” After a moment, she added, “I am Queen Chrysalis.”

It felt almost pointless to her to state what should’ve been immediately clear to any emerged youngling, but with what they told of themselves, Chrysalis chose to clarify. Just because she knew why she felt compelled to do so didn’t chase away the sensation.

The worker’s eyes widened, but she maintained an even tone. “Chrysssalisss.” She flicked her tongue as she digested the word. “Queen Chrysalis,” Karlene Pender finally said before turning to look abashedly at Chrysalis. “And… you are‒ you gave birth to these… bodies?”

There was a deeply uncomfortable silence that was immediately made obvious by the others odorous response, even of the other younglings. It took a second too long for Karlene Pender to realise the mistake and, when she did, she looked and smelled absolutely horrified.

“I-I-I didn’t mean to imply…!” She shuffled uneasily on her hooves. “I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s alright,” Chrysalis interrupted, not particularly interested in the faux-pas, though she did make a note of both it and their response upon realising what Karlene Pender had done. She instead regarded the worker with critical eyes.

There was nothing out of the ordinary, not at first sight. There were clear signs that marked the nymphs, of course, but they physically appeared like any other nymph. The eyes, the little marks on their backs: they were the only thing that visually differentiated them.

But mentally...

Chrysalis’s stare did not abate. Under her scrutiny the youngling‒ the being squirmed. The Queen felt an almost feral glee upon seeing the guttural fear that threatened to overwhelm the little one. Of equal intensity however, was the nausea that rose from the sight of what was ostensibly her own child writhing with dread. It didn’t matter what this Karlene said, nor what the other two said; these were of her own flesh and blood, and nothing would ever change that.

But…

Eventually the glare ceased as Chrysalis did an about-face and made for the exit. Karlene let out a shaky breath, while the other two wordlessly watched as Chrysalis walked. The two nurses stood behind the younglings and were closest to the threshold beyond. As Chrysalis came close, she stopped to look to her alpha nurse.

He was dutifully silent. Or was he silent because he had no words to describe what he had witnessed? Either way, she craned her neck towards Petiole.

“Keep them in here,” Chrysalis ordered with an edge to her voice, making no attempt of being subtle. “Do not let anyone in, not even any of the other alphas.”

The drone’s eyes widened. “Are‒ not even the other alp—”

“No one else,” she asserted with nearly gritted teeth. The Queen did not bother to wait for a response and continued out towards the connecting tunnel.

Isolating the three was not a motherly thing to do—unqueenly even. Her own heart protested at her actions. Chrysalis needed to think however. She had unexpectedly been given much to mull over, and needed to make sure that she could act upon her decisions once she came to then. It’d take some time, considering the… unusual circumstances.

Besides, they refused their names, so I can refuse to be their mother, can’t I? a petulant voice within her declared resolutely. Fair is fair.

Her heart ached just that bit more as she crawled into the tunnel.