The Highest Honor Bestowed by the Queen
The Highest Honor Bestowed by the Queen
Bzzz.
Feed.
Eat. Rest.
A landing spot. Wait – this spot moves! Lives.
Feed.
Ea-
Eyes crossed, a green bolt from The Queen’s ragged horn left nothing of the housefly sitting on her nose but a smudge and a minuscule trail of smoke, which she blew away in one quick breath, directed from her lower lip. Death had been here for all of fifteen minutes, yet insects were already amassing and working quickly.
Their nature.
The cabin sat in an unincorporated portion of Equestria, not far from the ruins of the Castle of the Royal Pony Sisters. It was well built, with solid floors and windows for ample light despite the forest which had begun to encroach on the outer perimeter in recent years. However, on this day, rain fell steadily. There was no thunder and, aside from the blunt footsteps made by Changeling feet, all that could be heard indoors was the striking of drops on the thatch roof as the clouds opened up above. Two bodies had made noise upon being dragged out earlier; not enough of a sound to be a concern. But the blood was a problem. Streaks, approximately a foot in width, were left on the wood where the male and female had been moved across the floor, a viscous trail bourne from their fates, only just now cooling. Had it been colder, all in attendance would have seen the resulting steam, rising.
“Clean quickly.” The order was quiet and definitive, and the soldiers heeded her words, scraping their feet along haphazardly, blood pooling aside of their black appendages as they went. This would not work well, but the perfunctory actions allowed The Queen the time she needed to assess the domicile after the execution.
The screamed protests of the couple had not lasted long before their mouths had been gagged with utilitarian, syrupy, green Changeling ooze. As her soldiers secured them, she had ambled through the front door, her armor expertly crafted, black chitin and holes, dull and defiant, her expression angry and resolute, her fangs exposed. She was living legend, and the two ponies might have panicked at the sight of her, but they could not – they had only focused on her terribly bright, bluish-green eyes, which demanded their gaze immediately.
Those horrible, horrible orbs. They bore into them, and their heartbeats immediately became irregular. She had already begun killing them. Before the end, she spoke their crimes aloud as she levitated them with her dark magic, and then
He looked to her. I didn’t want us to die like this. I failed you...
I know what you’re thinking, love. We were aware of the risks. If we can’t fight back, then, for Eques....!
The Changeling ruler’s voice rose in anger. The female tried to glance back once more at her beloved, but to no avail. Horn glowing brightly, The Queen struck her green lightning across both of their abdomens simultaneously, issuing precise wounds of a predetermined length. Blood fell, and organs began to descend. It lasted hundreds of seconds, when it could have easily ended in one. She wanted pain. Their shaking and muffled cries told her she had succeeded.
As their eyes rolled upwards and clouded over, she turned her back on them with a flourish, their bodies crashing down on the wood behind her, warriors no longer. Her soldiers had then begun their work.
The Changelings continued with their mostly futile scraping. Her head at a curious tilt while assessing walls and furnishings, she opened her mouth to let her tongue take a sweep at her fangs and teeth, looking backwards while she assessed the flavors of the air. All things – and all scenarios – had a taste. She processed.
Warriors are loners, generally speaking. But these two were a couple. A terrible risk. How far did that risk go?
Her glances around the cabin grew sharper. Her chin rose. And then, without warning, a nearly inaudible sigh escaping her:
“Leave me.”
The Changeling soldiers looked at one another quizzically, but only for a moment; they knew better. All of them filed out and scurried away, abandoning The Queen standing atop of a poorly-cleaned floor, dark and wet with the effects of her ruthless justice.
The rain fell harder. She looked around the cabin again to ensure no other Changeling was left. Once satisfied, she issued her command in her best regal voice
that of a Queen, not the mother of the hive. Never a mother
“Come out.”
Rain, pelting the roof, was the response. Perhaps another sound? No, her keen hearing caught nothing for a full minute. She contemplated. On the subject of noises, her mind went back two hundred and seventy years previously, when a small village had been ripe for a love plundering. As a swarm of hundreds of Changelings had descended, she had arrived, assessing the beginnings of feeding preparation. Chaos, screaming. Confusion and paralyzing fear. Colts and fillies had been wrapped in the legs of their parents, to the extent that they could hardly be seen – any effort to protect them would have been made, if the elders had possessed the strength against her army. But there had been
no chance, because the armor at work for ponies was always a product of love. Love was strong, but Changelings were expert surgeons at extracting it in vast quantities within the flick of a tail. It filled their reserves like a boiling broth, brimming and disappearing just as quickly, being utilized before the husks of the ponies they drained it from had ceased their movements. There was no Changeling race without this. No pony’s soul was ever spared when the necessity of her hive’s survival was on the table -
Not one. She took a deep breath, her tone softening imperceptibly, a hint of purposeful silkiness prevailing instead. Her eyelids went completely downward before her next utterance: “Come out, child.”
The air was unnaturally still. The wait for an answer lasted another full and most undesirable minute. She sighed again, as she continued: “I will easily find you, little one. It is in your best interest to begin our relationship amicably.”
Still no noise, as a colt emerged from a dark corner, his weight not enough to make a remarkable impression upon his small hooves as he walked forward, his legs shaking miserably. Tears were falling from his eyes anew; they had clearly been falling previously. Head bowed, he only made it a scant distance to where The Queen stood before his legs faltered completely, and he was forced to crouch, his tiny belly atop the stained wood. The Queen tilted her head slightly as she guessed at his age, wondering how long it would take him to look at her directly. The midday light was muted due to the storm, but what fell captured the both of them more than adequately in the moment. His visage heaved with sobs, his golden brown hair glowing against his tiny body, as a colt’s hair was wont to do. In sharp contrast, her appearance was the embodiment of blackness: limbs and chitin, tall and confident, built for the purpose of destruction, survival, temptation, and all embodiment of the realms of ponies and Changelings alike. Those who had inflicted the visible scars upon her had perished by her own efforts (save a princess or two she had encountered). They were raised badges on her otherwise smooth flesh, if one could call it that. She towered over him like a mythical creature, and he cowered as if in the presence of one.
“There, that’s right.” She paused. “No weapon? Look at me.” The colt shook. His lower lip faltered as he slowly brought his chin up to acknowledge The Queen, who made the appearance of regarding him gently. “What is your name?”
“C..C..Chestnut Sp…Sp..yglass.”
“And the names of your parents?”
“F-forward Force and S..wift Seclusion.”
“Indeed.” The softness disappeared, darkness and foreboding now coming from her throat, albeit with reverence. “I was not aware they had a foal; my resources have failed me.” She raised a leg and hoof to her chest, regally. “And I do not make a habit of speaking my name aloud, Chestnut Spyglass - but, for the sake of formal introduction, I am Queen Chrysalis. ” She then put it down and immediately set a perimeter, beginning an agonizingly slow circle around him. Her rear haunches, which usually stayed flat while she was hunting, moved slightly up and down now as she kept herself tall, her tattered, blue mane hanging heavily aside her head, armor registering the slightest friction against itself with the sound of metal scraping. “Your little flank has no cutie mark, I see. Rather late not to have one, I should think. What, Chestnut Spyglass, did you wish to be, had you grown to adulthood?”
The colt was too terrified to process the last portion of her inquiry. “I want..to be a..soldier.”
“Like your parents.” She bowed slightly, still moving. A wry grin was barely perceptible. “And you would kill Changelings, yes?”
“I wouldn't want to! I...would just protect my family from…from…”
“Danger.” The Queen continued her circle, her keen black ears making note of the colt’s suppressed whimpers. “There is nothing wrong with the desire to protect one’s tribe from danger. It’s what I do, and it’s why I’m here.” She picked up a foot, curiously acknowledging the blood which had collected underneath. She then put it down, resuming her movements. “A good soldier is a quick study in the tactics of the enemy. Normally, I do not divulge the details of my advances to the opposition.” She halted momentarily, her voice thoughtful. “But, look here.”
She found the colt’s eyes, seeking out his pupils through his tears, showing her earnestness as she began to walk again. “Study me carefully, Chestnut Spyglass. What I’m doing right now is called `corralling’.” She allowed her limbs more exaggerated movements as she stretched her bug-like body further, for the sake of demonstration. “It is an uncommon approach, usually reserved for high command that I’m about to conquer. I have not used it in a long time - a century, in fact.” She watched as the terrified colt’s eyes showed an increasing amount of curiosity. “What do you think your response should be to this display, young soldier?”
“I..I don’t…”
“Very simple – the basics, please.”
For the first time, a small murmur of confidence came from the colt’s mouth, as he was able to briefly concentrate on his teachings rather than his fear: “I…should keep facing you, not turn my back. And stay low?”
The Queen nodded once, continuing her dance. “That is correct, although it would still end badly for you, despite your best planning. This tactic of mine incorporates both intimidation, and desire – a weakness all ponies in my encounters have possessed.” She found his gaze. “You are privy to something special. Are you frightened?”
“Y..es.”
“And, though you’re but a colt, you’re still in awe of the spectacle of me despite your fears, aren’t you?”
“...yes.”
The Queen was now expressionless, yet her eyes seemed to take on a jewel-like sheen in response to his admission. “So much easier for young ones to confess.” She allowed a pause for him to gaze at her further before her voice struck a militant tone that nevertheless was without malice: “I came here to confront your parents about a crime they committed against my hive. Do you know what that crime was?”
The colt, jolted from a temporary daze, answered, fresh tears hitting the floor as his chin nearly scraped it. “They…hurt Changelings, my queen.”
The Queen stopped, body rigid, as she looked back over her shoulder at the pitiful colt behind her. Her neck craned with purpose as her voice grew softer again, but with the simultaneous appearance of malevolence. “What did you just call me?”
Chestnut Spyglass quickly revealed his eyes from underneath their mournful lids. They were now wide with terror.
She was measuring this response carefully. She continued her inquiry as he stared straightforward, paralyzed. “Chestnut Spyglass, what did you call me?”
“Q..qu…”
“That’s what I thought.” Her tone was terrifyingly unreadable. She briskly completed her circle, to face him directly, lowering her head towards the colt, who cowered further at her full attention: “I am not your queen’, young one,” she began, in a soft cadence. “Those who rightfully call me theirqueen’ are members of my loyal hive, who would and do put their lives down to protect me. There are also those who I allow to sneer the utterance of `queen’ in my presence because they have battled me for centuries, and have earned a certain amount of gravitas for which I do not destroy them the moment that title is spoken to me. You are neither. Do you understand?”
“Yes! Forgive me!” He cowered, both forelegs over his head.
The silk in her voice then became twice as pronounced. “I sense you were trying to be respectful when you called me your queen, weren’t you?”
“Yes.” A small yelp.
She suddenly broke the circle, approaching him. He pushed himself backwards, his rear hooves sliding on the wood. She reached down, bringing his chin up with her foot. He gasped, breathing rapidly through his mouth, eyes wet and brimming. “I believe you,” she said, resuming her role as teacher. “And some helpful advice in that endeavor: if you don’t wish to offend, never pull away from a queen when she comes to you, despite your fears. Accept her, respectfully. Yes?”
Lightning-quick nods in response.
She kept her hold on his chin, voice at a low volume. “This next tactic is not shared by all Changelings. It is a magic their queen deploys though a trait unique to my eyes.” The sharp end of her dark, hole-marked horn glowed green; Chestnut Spyglass rose from the floor, his small body levitating, legs hanging limp as The Queen brought him close to her face. Instinctively, his eyes squeezed shut.
“Mmmm.” A soft noise arose from her throat and, through no effort of their own, the colt’s eyelids slowly began to open, forcing his gaze to connect with hers. “You will feel a measure of calm washing over you. It is very useful when I interrogate witnesses. You are young, but you shall receive the same inquisition. Tell me what you saw.”
The colt, dutifully fixated on The Queen’s stare, opened his mouth as if to speak, but began quietly sobbing instead, only somewhat constrained by the magic she was performing on him. The Queen of the Changelings hummed sagely. She had needed no further confirmation that he had witnessed his parents’ demise, but it was not the only information she was after. She blinked slowly as she watched his sides barely contain his lungs, air escaping and being drawn back in quickly. Her magic, already taking ahold of his heart, was waiting for her more definitive command. As it languidly penetrated the colt’s body, it reported findings back to The Queen: there was love, thick, unadulterated, dispersed among parents, friends, family, life, beauty. A wide spread, at a young age. Enough to not only make her stronger, but restore strength she had not known for many years. Transformative love. The darkness grew blacker within her being as his story unfolded for her; in the presence of this foal, nature would have wished for a faltering of evil. Even a mere flicker.
Something. Where is the desire for revenge? I slaughtered them like boars, in front of you. I snuffed out those you cherished. You should want to kill me – if not now, eventually. But I sense nothing...
Her assessment done, her voice was soft and seductive when she spoke to him again: “You would never have been a genuine soldier, Chestnut Spyglass. Do you agree?”
Nodding in response, his tiny body continued to convulse from the sobbing. She went on: “No, not a soldier. Too compassionate.” Her eyes bore into him roughly, yet she spoke gently. “Your integrity is impressive; you would have made a fine stallion, my little pony. But you have seen too much.”
Hope lost, and unable to resist her logic, Chestnut Spyglass nodded again. This came from his knowledge of warrior protocol, and The Queen indicated her acceptance of his knowledge with a nod of her own. She turned his head slightly with her foot. “I know what your fate will be. Do you?”
Her spell interwoven deeply within his conscious, the colt stammered, numbly: “You’re going to drain me of love. Until I -”
“No.”
The colt maintained a shaky, confused silence as The Queen continued: “You have earned the right to keep your love. Yours isn’t simply essence; it defines you. I feel to take it from you would be an indignity. So, I will not.” She traced her foot from his chin to the soft skin on the front of his neck. “Instead, I’m going to tear out your throat, an aggression I’ve previously reserved for only my most worthy of opponents.” She kept stroking his skin there, seeking out his pulse for the correct aim. “I’ve not done this in many years, but I am an expert. It is quick, and almost painless. You shall join your parents in the great beyond immediately thereafter.”
His eyes growing wide again, Chestnut Spyglass registered a new level of panic on his face as The Queen’s glowing, blue-green eyes grew perceptibly brighter. She stepped him through the process. “I’ll begin by slowing your heart to barely a flutter.”
That which registered as terror inside the colt’s physical body suddenly diminished significantly, although his mind continued to scream for help. But things grew blurry. A small sense of euphoria intermingled with fright as Chestnut Spyglass felt the last bit of his will melt away beneath The Queen’s gaze. She moved him towards her teeth. Lips parting, a viscous fluid collected at the bottom of her right fang before falling to the floor, intermingling with the blood of the recently departed. Her jaw maneuvered downward into a position where she could snap it shut with enough force to shatter him completely. The organ which supplied him with life was now working at a dull, slow thud; she flexed it, directed it, owned it.
She then stopped, bringing her lips back together, and forced the colt's eyelids open again. Her countenance was close enough to encapsulate everything that amounted to the concluding moments of his world. The whirlwind of collective memories, little bolts of lightning which had flashed within his conscious during these seconds, screeched to a halt, whatever comfort they had offered undone by the dark monster in front of him.
She was asking to be acknowledged, and he was too far gone – and too young - to register why. The layers of complexity disappeared from her voice as it shifted to tenderness. She whispered something to him.
He swallowed hard, squeezing his eyes shut for the last time. When her lips parted once more, her surprisingly warm breath moistening his flesh, she could tell her final words to him had affected him deeply. In murder, she did not make mistakes...
**
The rain had slowed considerably. The Changeling guards outside, nervously eying their surroundings, were relieved when they saw their Queen emerge from the home, a tired expression on her face, but in good stance. She studied the sky and addressed her long-time head-in-command: “Burn it down.”
“Yes, Chrysalis.”
“And pay no mind to what’s there. We will find our food elsewhere.”
He nodded, gathering the others to begin working on the task at hand. She stood watch, listening for danger, finding only noises she would expect to hear from the newer woods. It took some time, but soon the sounds of the beginning fire also crept into the air, along with a glowing behind her as the first flames emerged. The Queen stole a glance to make sure her soldiers were busy, and not watching her. She let her jaw drop, swiping her tongue over the most prominent of her teeth and fangs, reverently licking them clean.
She regarded the flavor morosely. The modern times in which she now found herself produced such a taste far too rarely.
Author's Note
Got through it without a margarita. It's a miracle.
(But now I want one. Miracle still counts, tho.)
