Greg swore.
It had all gone to shambles. The Queen's plan, whilst grand and awesome in the safety of the changeling capital, had gone into fruition - and when victory was within grasp, something had gone wrong.
The weather itself seemed to mock the failure. Bright and sunny, everything had been planned to perfection - even the weather - for the wedding. Such a shame that it went all wrong for the ponies. At least the Queen had been able to soak up enough love to make do for another six months.
He stumbled on a loose rock. There was a farm up ahead, a building surrounded by several acres of orange trees; closer to the roads, several small shops stood. The area screamed 'small community'. It'd be Tartarus to figure out how to hide there. Everypony would know everypony, and as such strangers would stick out like a sore hoof. Not to mention that the expanding pink shield around Canterlot would definitely invite suspicion upon sudden newcomers.
Still, he had no choice. His stomach growled, as if to emphasize the point. It was stay, and perhaps steal some emotion, or take a detour and starve.
Not much of a choice.
His black, chitinous body bore several small scratches - he'd hurled himself off the mountain city seconds before the pink shield rushed over his head, flinging his comrades to areas unknown - but they didn't hurt. Changelings were a hardy race.
A small sweet-shop lay ahead. It looked like any normal house - two story, made of wood and clearly with pony-inspired architecture - but the sign hanging over the entrance said otherwise. Changelings were raised to be adept at all the major languages, so he could read the sign as 'Cotton Candy's Sweet Stuff'.
A shop was the easiest place to hide, Greg knew. The customers around the area would provide the necessary ambient emotion he'd need - and, there would be several nooks and crannies inside the back of the shop, where the supplies were stored, to hide himself while he fed.
Hiding himself in the long grass off the main road, he tried to turn into something else - anything else - and randomized an appearance in his mind. Blue coat, red mane, green tail. Ugly, but anything was better than his natural form.
He called up the changeling magic, and saw green sparks flash around him - before fizzling out. Looking down at his hooves, Greg saw black, holed appendages.
He swore again.
There was no choice. He'd just have to improvise.
Another valuable lesson that changelings learnt was that the appearance of belonging there allowed one to belong there. If one acted as if he fit in, he would be treated as such. Of course, that was for when one was already in disguise, and beginning an infiltration - not Greg's current situation.
Summoning his courage, Greg managed to arrive at the sweet-shop's main door, and he pushed it open. Luckily for him, he'd been able to sneak around the majority of the townsfolk, as most of the ponies on the streets had been looking upwards at the pink display of magic above them. It would just be him and the owner of the shop that he'd have to contend with.
The storekeeper was a mare, Greg saw. She was an earth pony, with a purple coat and a pink mane that appeared clean, if not tidy. She was standing behind a tall counter. Likely the eponymous Cotton Candy. As the opening door hit a bell hanging near it, Greg swore mentally for what must have been the fifth time ever since his escape.
"Welcome to my sweet-shop! I'm Cotton Candy," the mare said. The speech sounded rehearsed, and Greg couldn't help but think about how he'd do it.
As he froze in place, his legs unable to follow his will, he could take in the entirety of the sweet-shop interior. The light fixture overhead was a small, fuel-based chandelier, bathing the shop floor in a cozy orange glow. To both his sides, sweets of all sorts lay in open jars, and scoops lay next to them, clearly used to shovel the sweets into the paper bag that were dispensed from a machine next to him. The multitude of colors made the whole room seem jollier, even as he knew, just knew that it would be where he would make his last stand.
Still, at least it wouldn't be in some forest in the middle of nowhere. That would just be insulting.
The mare stopped as she made eye contact with the changeling. For a moment, her mouth hung comically open, before she clamped it shut. Greg sighed, ready to give up the chase. At least a dungeon would provide him with a modicum of emotion, and he wouldn't have to work for it.
Unexpectedly, the mare slowly got off the counter, and started towards the quiet changeling, her face etched with worry. "Are you okay?"
She was squinting, and it appeared that she couldn't see him very well. She had probably mistaken him for a black-coated pony.
Greg jumped, startled. This was unexpected. He was expecting a scolding at best, the guards at worst. Still, he didn't want to push his luck. "No, I'm starving."
"Oh," the pony - Cotton - gasped, and turned towards a nearby jar of sweets. "Here. Have some. On me."
Greg smiled. Cotton's kindness was an unexpected bonus, but the sweets themselves wouldn't do more than pass through his digestive tract unchanged. "Thanks. For the offer, I mean. But, they won't do me any good."
"You're diabetic?" Cotton asked, head tilted to one side. She looked really cute like that, Greg thought absently.
He shook his head. "I'm not a pony," he started. Since this pony had the kindness not to throw him to the guards, he thought he'd repay that kindness. It would help to build some trust, and a base to fall back on if things went sideways. Still, admitting that he was a complete alien was a huge risk - ponies weren't known for being the most accepting of the other sentient races. That honor went to the griffons, surprisingly enough. They were shrewd merchants, and saw each race as a chance to make money.
Cotton smiled. "I see. You're a changeling, aren't you."
This was it. Do or die.
Lying would get him nowhere. The mare was smiling in a way that was self-assured, but also understanding. In the cozy, warm light of the sweet-shop, she would have looked like a kindly mother, if not for her youth.
Greg nodded, defeated. "If you want to throw me to the guards..."
The mare shook her head and sat down, all of a sudden. Greg tilted his head to the side, surprised. This suggested a modicum of trust - and he was more than happy to reciprocate it. He needed all the help he could get, now.
He could sense the flurry of emotions coming off the mare. Fear. Worry. Compassion. Curiosity. Hope. That mixed with her scent, a smell not too different from strawberry cotton candy, to create a potent brew.
Greg sat down as well, and instantly he could sense the happiness of the mare increase, and her worry and fear decrease. This was a good sign. It meant she started to trust him.
Greg could see the mare examining him. "Why didn't you change when you came it?"
"No energy," he replied, shrugging. "I was too hungry." He shuffled his wings anxiously.
A dash of sorrow and pity mixed into her broth of emotions.
"I'm sorry," she murmured, looking downwards at her own hooves. "This must have been so hard on you." Her head lowered, and her ears drooped.
Greg felt a lopsided grin form on his muzzle, and he made an approximation of a shrug. "No need to be. Wasn't your fault."
Cotton's face scrunched up. "Why are you here? In Equestria, of all places."
Greg sighed, and fluttered his insect-like wings nervously. "A famine. We needed... energy. From emotion. It was a pretty desperate situation."
"Emotion?" she asked. "Oh, sorry to be so nosy... but this is the first time I've met a member of your race! I've always wanted to know more."
Greg tittered nervously. This conversation was going to a very awkward place. "Erm... positive emotion. Like happiness, you know?" His wings fluttered unconsciously, and his tail flicked to the side.
He raised a holed hoof to scratch at the back of his head, tickling the membranous webbing between his torn ears. "Yeah, secrets have always been a changeling's best defense. I suppose we started to embrace it in our society as well."
Cotton sighed, smiling. "If only your people would be more open. We're not that xenophobic, you know? Well, at least I'm not."
She paused for a moment, and Greg got the sign that she wanted to get something off her chest. "We've always been told that your race is a race of monsters. No different from the savage dragons, or the cunning griffons. But..." Her face fell into a contemplative look - her eyes gazing at some imaginary, distant place.
"Well, I'm happy to prove those ponies wrong. Although I see what they mean. Secrecy tends to breed doubt, and doubt seeds fear," Greg said, more to lighten the mood than anything else. Changelings knew one another, thanks to the emotions they emitted. One would instantly know when the other was happy, or sad, or even both. Ponies, however - he couldn't fathom a life like that. Not knowing what your closest relatives really thought of you. It was so constricting, so blind. Yet the pony in front of him seemed happy and content...
The mare sighed, and Greg could feel her hope coming off of her in waves. "I've never had a conversation like that before. This town isn't really the most progressive - we've always been steeped in tradition and hard work. Earth pony values."
Greg smirked. "You could say the same about the changeling people. We tend to focus on work over philosophy. Because we have to rely on the kindness of others, in a sense. Maybe that was why we ended up where we were. We could see no other options..."
"I see what you mean. Desperate times call for desperate measures, hmm?" Cotton said as she returned his smirk.
Greg paused awkwardly. He'd never known what to do, at this point. Oh well.
"You know, I've never had such a conversation before," he said, shifting on his rump. His tail flicked of its own accord.
"Me neither!" she exclaimed, mirroring his body language. "This is a welcome change of pace. There's only so much you can talk about here."
"Well, I'm glad I met you. Not only for the talk, but also for giving me a chance. Not throwing me to the guards. Yeah." Greg shuffled in his forehooves and rump as he spoke. This confession was difficult to make, and he had to look at the floor in between them to get the words out. He rubbed a forelimb on the back of his head - a universal show of embarrassment.
Cotton smiled; a real, genuine smile unlike the one she wore when she first greeted him. "You know, you're pretty cute for a monster."
Greg saw her aura begin to emit the love of friendship. It wasn't as potent or tasty as true, romantic love, but it was close, and he was starving, as attested to by his growling stomach. Quickly, he siphoned it off. The taste was similar to honey - sweet and pungent. However, the source closed off quickly.
Cotton tilted her head slightly, green eyes searching him as she shivered a bit.
"What the -?" she questioned, ears folded backwards. Her green eyes were hard now. Of course. She'd thought he'd taken advantage of her, strung her along. And he had.
But Greg found himself conflicted. Part of him believed that she was right - he was originally going to suck the love out of her and leave for the hive - but another part of him wanted that to be untrue. Why? he didn't know. He'd felt it before, but never knew why...
She was a great pony. Personality wise, of course. She was smart, curious and accepting of him - of what he was - and of who he was. Not to mention, she was really cute...
The second part of him won out, and he sighed in shame, ears flopping downwards. "I'm a changeling. We feed on love." His face had curled into a scowl, unconsciously, and he instantly forced it into a neutral expression, lest he scare off his new - friend?.
The pony's ears flicked back up to their upright positions, and her face started to mirror his. Ponies were one of the most expressive races, so such a look was quite rare - apparently, that meant she was in deep thought.
Greg started as she started to concentrate. Cotton's face took on a new look - one that reminded him of constipation. He laughed internally, then chastised himself for doing that. This kind of behavior was odd. He'd definitely never scolded himself for his own internal comments.
The pony continued to keep her face of concentration for about ten seconds. Greg looked on, surprised. Was she calling the guard using some enchanted trinket? Oh, he'd better be out of here. Quick.
Just then, the pony's emotional aura exploded into a tidal wave of happiness, kindness and compassion. There was definitely the love of friendship, but also that of something else - a nugget of romantic love. He'd feasted upon it before, and it was definitely the best thing he'd ever tasted. In his starved state, it took all of his willpower to keep himself from sucking the feelings out of her.
This act of kindness was unparalleled. It suggested total trust of another being - a prey's trust of a predator, in this case - and he stared at her, both astonished and touched.
Instead, of siphoning off all the emotion, he called out to his changeling magic. The emotions swirled all around the two of them, like they were the center of a cyclone and the emotion made up the storm wall. He saw the pony smile, and as he looked at her, she looked at him; and they were the most beautiful pair of eyes he'd ever seen.
So he made his choice.
He siphoned off the friendship, the kindness, the happiness and the compassion; but the love, the romantic love, he sent through the holes in his hooves.
The romantic love, he willed back out. To her, it would feel no different. To him, it meant all the difference in the world. The love was imbued with his essence, and it meant that he felt the same way to her. She wouldn't be able to taste the difference in love, even though she'd feel his love - but for him, it was enough for her to know that he cared as well.
He sent it back to her.
She blushed.
And in the cozy, warm light of the sweet-shop, the two creatures hugged. They may have been of different race, and on opposing sides of a recent conflict - but the two didn't care.
It was a start - their relationship would have a ways to go - but as somepony wise once said, 'A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.'
Love really could transcend boundaries.
