It has to be done. It has to be me.
With a soft, long, resigned sigh, Starlight once again looked across the horizon and saw… nothing. Just an endless expanse of green grass and rolling hills. The same lush wilderness she’d been travelling through for the last three days from sunrise to sunset. She’d never deny the beauty of the place, with its beds of white, blue, pink, red and yellow flowers, the occasional brook and shrub, and white clouds as tall as mountains, but for all the calm surrounding her, she felt none of it.
She knew what this place was — who lived here; who she’d come to see.
And she knew she was being watched.
She didn’t know where or how, but she knew. It was a feeling she’d had ever since taking her first steps in this sprawling meadow, and she’d had her suspicions as far back as leaving Ponyville. Always, there was a pony who seemed out of place, or got a little too close, as if trying to send a subtle message: she wouldn’t be welcomed.
But on she marched, heedless of the warnings whether real or imagined, and so she’d found herself here, in the shade of a hollow tree — the only one in the whole of this scenic wasteland. She sat, she watched, and she waited, and for the entire morning, she’d seen nothing.
With every passing minute, the dread within her grew. Though birds twittered away in the distance, and insects chirped and buzzed among the pastures, and a gentle breeze blew from the east, it was much too quiet. Tension built in the air like a taut cable ready to snap; it was only a matter of time before it broke.
There was no way this would end well. That, she also knew. But even so, she had to try.
For Twilight. For Thorax. For the whole of Equestria.
For herself.
For her.
There’s always a chance, isn’t there?
A pair of monarchs danced about in haphazard circles a few strides off to the left, their wings of black and orange in stark contrast to the livelier colours before her.
She watched them idly, if only to pass the time, and while the tension didn’t fade away completely, she at least found herself distracted from the situation at hoof. Perhaps that was irresponsible — perhaps Twilight would’ve said she should be focussing on the mission, and perhaps she’d be right. But Twilight wasn’t here, and she deserved at least a moment’s respite.
They flittered up and down without a sound, twisting and turning and chasing each other like two young pegasi. It reminded her of the schoolhouse back home, in a way, and reminded her how far she was from it. And if push came to shove all the way out here, she wondered how long it would take for everypony she knew to put two and two together.
…Maybe it was better if she didn’t focus on the butterflies.
One disengaged from their aerial battle, or ballet — Fluttershy would’ve been able to tell the difference — and started flapping away down the hill. The other, presumably a victor, celebrated by venturing toward the tree, and Starlight with it.
She sat perfectly still and continued to observe, brows faintly rising. It was a silly, childish fantasy, and it wouldn’t be much in the grand scheme of things, but she couldn’t help wondering if maybe…
It continued flying closer.
The soft beginnings of a smile snuck across her muzzle. With any luck, she’d be a perch before long, and that’d be at least one good memory to take away from this trip.
It followed the winding, exposed roots of the tree for a few moments, before fluttering higher like a paper flower caught in a gentle updraft, and there it stayed as it wandered ever nearer, heading in the vague direction of her snout.
Her eyes widened, as did her mouth in a barely-contained grin. She’d never been terribly great with animals, let alone the ones who normally didn’t bite and scratch, so if what she hoped to happen was actually happening, this was a special occasion indeed. And she welcomed it wholeheartedly.
But then it passed her nose, choosing instead to dance about in the air before her.
In an instant, the hope waned and her smile fell, ears lowering slightly as she sighed. The one good thing she might’ve had before things grew too serious, and it didn’t happen. Now it was just her, her thoughts, and a potential eternity of relative silence where she could do nothing but sit and wait and brood. And she was tired of it.
In fact, she half-wished the meeting would just happen already, because at least then she’d have more than herself for company. As well as the butterfly, which hadn’t yet moved on, and was… hovering in front of her… facing her… its wingbeats slow and methodical…
Starlight squinted and drew her head a little closer. It was nearly impossible without a magnifying glass, but she could definitely see something was… off about this one. For all its miniscule, mostly inexpressive features, something about it gave off a judgemental air.
Almost as if it were…
…Glaring?
Before she could inspect any further, she was shocked and blinded by a furiously intense flash of bright green flames, engulfing the butterfly and all the grass below it in a blaze as large a yak. But there was no heat, only freezing cold. And in the blink of an eye, Starlight found herself face to face with a changeling the size of Celestia herself.
Her harlequin eyes were narrowed to slits, her mouth and brows twisted in a fuming, scolding glower, fangs protruding from her upper lip like sharpened kitchen knives. Her tattered mane drooped from her scalp and neck like a moth-ridden bride’s veil. Ragged wings stood tall and proud, matching her stature, even as she leaned in and pressed her snout against Starlight’s.
Part of her wanted to yelp. Part of her wanted to scramble back and put her hooves up and shriek as loud as she could, because that was the normal response, and she had every right to be afraid. But part of her had also expected this — knew she’d make a dramatic entrance somehow. Everypony was a creature a habit, after all.
But some habits could be unlearned. And that was why she’d come.
“You,” the changeling hissed, voice dripping with the venom of a rattlesnake ready to pounce.
Starlight had to stop herself from gulping. Any sign of weakness would practically doom her. But somehow, she found the strength to moisten the insides of her unexpectedly dry mouth and tersely announce, with what little conviction she could muster, “Chrysalis.”
“Queen Chrysalis.” The changeling pressed her snout against hers even harder. “I won’t be addressed like some common whelp.”
Starlight thought about nodding, but quickly dismissed the idea — any sudden movements could steer this conversation down a very loud and violent path. “Of course, Your Majesty,” she said simply, trying hard to keep the shakiness from welling up at the back of her throat.
Chrysalis continued to glare, drilling into Starlight’s eyes like daggers twisting at the hilt. “You have nerve, Starlight Glimmer, coming here after what you did.”
She didn’t dare respond. It wasn’t nerve or courage or whatever she was supposed to call it that brought her where she was, but something far more selfish. And if she said it out loud, she could only imagine the wrath she’d unleash.
“If I recall correctly, I promised you vengeance.”
“You did.”
“And yet, here you are.” Chrysalis pushed her snout further, jagged horn glowing, eyes wide and burning with rage. Like an airtight canister in a fire, she was itching to burst, and looking for an excuse to do so. “Why?”
Starlight let the question hover in what little air there was between them. She could smell her breath — taste the humid, pungent, sickly odour — and knew one hoof wrong, even by an inch, would send what little bargaining power she had down the drain.
“Did Twilight send you?”
“No.”
“Are you doing her dirty work?”
“No.”
“She can’t bear to finish the job herself, so she sent her little pet instead?”
“No, Your Highness.”
Her eyes narrowed once more. “Then it’s personal.”
“No.”
“You want me dead.”
“No.”
“You came here to slay me, the last great threat to Equestria, and bring about the next great age of peace and harmony — to be a hero.”
“Your Majesty, please, let me—”
“NO!” she barked, lifting her head and talking down to her, displaying her fangs in a livid snarl. “I’ll not hear you lie to my face as you drive your knives through my hearts!”
Starlight sat quietly for a few long moments, leaning as far back as possible without falling over, trying to stay resolute while staring into spiteful eyes. And the only reason she could hold it together, keeping her fear from darting up her spine, was the question the queen’s appearance begged.
“Then why let me speak at all?”
Chrysalis didn’t reply immediately, choosing instead to glower. If she had any doubts, she hid them well, but Starlight expected nothing less from a master of deception. “Because I want to hear you beg for mercy before I tear you apart.”
Starlight considered the response, but found it lacking. She slowly shook her head, never breaking eye contact. “No.”
“You’ll change your mind soon enough.”
On instinct, she glanced away with a short, soft sigh; a mistake, to be sure, but when she switched back to Chrysalis, she found the queen unmoved. Or perhaps, in a certain light, she’d spied the brief glimpse of a smug flicker in her eyes. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what, fiend?”
Starlight pressed her lips together, unsure of herself. She’d be going out on a limb by saying it, but she felt confident there was merit behind it. “You’re smarter than that.”
The queen’s scowl grew deeper. “I am many things.”
“Not reckless.”
The queen remained silent.
“You’re proud, Your Highness, and you’ve every right to be.” Starlight bowed her head, a modicum of genuine respect behind her words and actions. But when she returned to Chrysalis, she allowed her only a piteous stare. “But you’d never let pride get in the way of victory.”
“You presume to know me?”
“No.” She shook her head. “But if you wanted to fight me, you’d have done it long before now.”
Chrysalis said nothing, narrowing her eyes to slits once again. She didn’t like being caught out, Starlight suspected, so there was hatred in her gaze, but also an undeniable air of recognition; she’d met an equal. It remained to be seen whether that was good news or bad. “Then why am I here?” she rumbled dangerously.
“For the same reason I am: to hear each other out.”
The queen’s gaze hardened like cold steel. “I didn’t come to negotiate.”
“Maybe not,” Starlight conceded, nodding lightly, “but you wouldn’t talk to me unless you thought there’s something to gain.”
Silence followed. It was a stretch, she knew, but she had to call her bluff, otherwise they might’ve gone around in circles. Perhaps deliberately; a ploy to slowly eat away at her patience until she slipped up and lashed out, giving Chrysalis the excuse to act in self-defence. That way, she’d start a fight with a clear conscience — something Starlight knew she had, or else she wouldn’t be alive right now.
Starlight didn’t know her personally, but she knew her well enough; she’d gone through archive after archive, scroll after scroll, night after sleepless night transcribing, translating and cross-referencing. Every mention of a changeling queen — what she said, what she did, how she went about achieving her goals — she’d read and memorised it all as best she could.
It had to be done. It had to be her. It wouldn’t be right if it were anypony else.
And the longer the silence dragged, the more comfortable Starlight felt in her presence. Not by much, but enough to risk a fleeting glance here and there. Paler sections of chitin flaked along parts the queen’s neck. Her mane appeared thinner; threadbare, like fraying drapes caught in a breeze, worn by weather and time. Her wings, too, quivered faintly like chattering teeth, as if she lacked the strength to keep them open, but made them stand at attention through sheer force of will.
She was indeed a master of deception, but no lie in the world could hide what she’d become.
“You’re tired, aren’t you?”
Chrysalis, once again, said nothing for a good, long while, weighing her words carefully. “Of what?”
“This.” Starlight glanced to nowhere in particular. “Fighting. It’s worn on you, hasn’t it? All these years alone.”
The fire in her eyes rekindled. “Don’t you dare patronise me.”
“I’m not.”
“You are,” she seethed, tongue as sharp as her fangs. “You may hide it behind pleasantries and honeyed words, but I know what you are, thief, and how dare you pretend to know me.”
Starlight blinked, but tried to keep her emotions in check. “…Thief?”
“DON’T FEIGN IGNORANCE EITHER!” Chrysalis roared, stomping the earth hard enough for Starlight to feel the shock. “You stole my family! Turned my own children against me — all thirteen thousand, eight hundred and twelve! I laid them myself, I hatched them! Watched them break through their eggs and heard their infant cries! And you took them from me!”
Starlight drew her head back slightly. A familiar sensation of guilt clawed at her insides — that she was once again the cause of somepony else’s suffering — but still, she couldn’t let it show. This was progress, however shameful.
The queen’s eyes still boiled with rage, but something else had started to shine through. Starlight had a feeling she knew what it was, but it wasn’t until Chrysalis opened her mouth that it became obvious: despair. “For a thousand years, they were all I had. For a thousand years, I fed them and nurtured them and protected them, as well as any mother would. And then came along Starlight Glimmer, the Great Deceiver, a mare from nowhere, and she robs me of them.”
Defending her actions wouldn’t do her any favours, Starlight knew, despite the urge to do so; it would only add fuel to the flames. She looked down in thought. Better to try a different approach.
“Do you deny it, thief?”
“No.”
Chrysalis paused, waiting expectantly.
“I took them from you,” Starlight admitted slowly, calmly, and with just as much poise, returned her gaze to the queen. “So did Thorax.”
“Don’t mention that traitor’s name in my presence,” she hissed. “He’ll pay for his crimes eventually. And Discord, and your precious Trixie Lulamoon.”
Starlight felt the yank of a protective, acrid nerve in her chest, but knew it was an empty threat. “What happened to conquering Equestria?”
“Equestria will be mine in time. For now, I seek justice.”
“You attacked Canterlot unprovoked.”
“I WAS FEEDING MY CHILDREN!” The queen stomped again, snout to snout with Starlight once more. “Every action I took, I took for their sake! I’ve done unspeakable things in their name — suffered at the hooves of lesser ponies than you since before your grandparents’ grandparents were born! I’ve seen dynasties rise and fall, cities and kingdoms sink into the sea, and yet my family endured, because of me!”
Another nerve was plucked, this one of recognition; for all the spite and malice in her voice, there was pain. Faint and easy to miss, but the subtle quaver was unmistakable.
“But then you came along,” she continued with a growl. “Twilight Sparkle and her friends. You and yours. And they betrayed me like simpering foals hungry for the bigger teat.”
Now the pain was undeniable.
“They betrayed me, their own mother, because of you.” Her eyes narrowed in a rancorous, vengeful scowl. “Where’s the justice in that?”
Starlight said nothing. Not for a long, watchful, measured while. “You were hurting ponies.”
“I DID WHAT WAS NECESSARY!”
“But it wasn’t,” she countered, careful not to sound too resolute. “They found a better way. And instead of changing with them, you spat in their face and ran off.”
“I spat in your face, not theirs.” Chrysalis backed up a few steps, now standing at a slight angle, giving her a sideways glare. “And why should I want to change?”
“Because you’re losing.”
There was another lengthy pause, and the queen grit her teeth behind a closed mouth. She slowly shook her head. “I haven’t lost yet.”
“No. But if you’re talking with me, you must be pretty close.”
Yet another pause, and the air between them became thick and heavy; a bluff had been called, and while Starlight was confident it was just that, a large part of her couldn’t help worrying. Where pride’s concerned, denial is a powerful ally — this, she knew too well, but now she’d be on the receiving end. It had lasted this long for the changeling, so why stop now?
But eventually, much to her surprise, the queen blinked and looked out to the horizon. She still glared, but breaking eye contact had given Starlight all the proof she needed, and the restrained, disgusted grimace told her Chrysalis wasn’t happy about it.
“This doesn’t have to end like you think it does.”
“And what would you propose?” she grumbled, giving Starlight a cutting glance as she turned away to idly stroll across the hill. “That I abandon my righteous cause in pursuit of something more noble? Shall I let go of the past and join the winning side? For whose sake? Who stands to gain the most?”
“You.”
She yanked herself to a halt and snapped back to Starlight warningly. “Don’t play coy with me, Deceiver. You know perfectly well this was their plan all along, and you’re their little pawn — I see that now. You were sent here to convert me — to preach the magic of friendship and all its worldly benefits. But if you think for one second I care what happens to me anymore, then you and I have nothing to discuss.”
“That’s a lie and you know it.”
She huffed and lowered her head, not unlike a guard readying their spear. “I won’t play into their hooves like the good little girl they expect me to be, and I’d never do it at your behest.”
“I understand.”
The queen said nothing.
Starlight seemed to be gaining ground — little by little, bit by bit. But she couldn’t risk overreaching herself. “I know I’m the last pony you’d want to see regarding this… and believe me, I’m not thrilled about it either… but in a strange, twisted way, I… I think I know how you feel.”
“You know nothing of suffering.”
“Not the same way you do, no.” She shook her head. “But I’m talking about something else.”
Chrysalis paused, gaze growing dangerous once more. “What might that be?” she questioned slowly, goadingly.
“Vengeance.”
Another pause, and then she turned away. “Your origins are no secret to me, Starlight,” she muttered, doubling back for the other end of the hill. “I know your only friend left you when you were too young to cope with it. I know you started a cult based on a lie. I know you vowed retribution against the Element Bearers, and you stalked and studied your prey for a whole year…”
Common knowledge by this point; all she’d have needed to do was disguise herself and ask around. Even so, Starlight couldn’t help feeling like she’d stumbled into the wrong line of work, hearing this — that even villains would know her life’s history front to back, with only a few pages missing.
“…But when the time came for you to enact your scheme… you faltered.” She came to a halt, folding her wings, and returned to Starlight with the same dangerous look, but now there was a small, faint sense of judgemental disappointment. “And in that moment of weakness, Twilight talked you down — you allowed yourself to listen.”
“With good reason.”
“You say that now,” she sneers. “But you’ve risen above your former self, haven’t you? Is there even a shred of a pony with some self-respect left, or is it all just… hollow? A husk. Dead and withering, trampled over, bending to the whims and wishes of those who claim to know better.”
Starlight felt her brows harden a touch. “I changed for the better.”
“Spoken like the brainwashed puppet you are.”
Her frown slightly deepened.
The queen noticed. “I may lie through my teeth, but when I speak the truth, it’s with purpose; something you’ve lacked of late, the second you became their lapdog.”
“Do you know what my plan was?” Starlight asked, her tone bordering indignant.
Chrysalis huffed — a short, curt, contemptuous snort. “It matters little anymore, doesn’t it? You failed. You betrayed yourself. And then you turned your wrath on me.”
“Have you heard of Starswirl the Bearded?”
Her lips curled into a subtle snarl. “We’ve met.”
“Then you know he was… is a powerful spellcaster.”
“Get to the point.”
Starlight grit her teeth, but bit back the venom. “There was a scroll he wrote before he vanished — a very potent scroll. One that could shape history as we know it into something… else.”
The queen made no comment; not overly eager to listen, but any opportunity to build up her strength was welcome, Starlight supposed.
“My plan was to go back in time and stop the event that brought the Element Bearers together.”
The queen’s brow twitched. “A bold strategy.”
“It was.” Talking about it so openly felt wrong, somehow, and especially with somepony she couldn’t exactly trust, like she was revealing step-by-step instructions for another sinister plot. “I thought if I could nip the weed before it sprouted, then everything would make itself right. If Twilight and her friends never came to be, then… who’d be able to stop me?”
“Nightmare Moon,” Chrysalis said as if she were scolding a petulant child in class. “Discord, Tirek, Sombra. Me. All of whom posed a greater threat to Equestria than you ever did.”
“Don’t be so sure.”
“Is that so?” She raised her head and strolled closer, looking down at Starlight with a haughty, but still unmistakably scolding air about her. “Then tell me, what did you imagine would happen when your cult met the ire of the Sisters, let alone Celestia herself? Did you truly think you, of all ponies, would be able to defeat them?”
“That wasn’t my concern at the time,” Starlight groused as her ears pinned back, scowling. “I’m not here to defend my actions or feed your ego. I wanted revenge. What that cost me didn’t matter. What I didn’t realise… was how much it would cost the world.”
The queen huffed again and turned her head away, gazing off into the distance with an unimpressed, somewhat disinterested look. “You give them too much credit.”
“I don’t.”
Her ear twitched, and she peered at Starlight from the corner of her eye.
The tone had caught her attention, no doubt — hiding the urgency would’ve been pointless. Chrysalis needed to hear this, and if the anxious quaver in Starlight’s voice made her sound weak, then that was a price she’d have to pay.
There were things far, far worse to witness than an exiled queen’s contempt.
“I changed the past… so many times,” she murmured, lowering her gaze to the grass between them, feeling a heaviness in her chest. “Always, Twilight came back to stop me. Over and over and over, she told me what I was doing was wrong — that the world wouldn’t end up like I hoped it would. And every time… I didn’t listen. I told myself she’s lying — she’s just trying to protect her happily ever after. But then…”
She shut her eyes and breathed deep, in and out, just as Twilight would, just as Cadance would. The next part wouldn’t be easy for her, and she knew how it would sound to somepony who already doubted her so much… but it had to be done.
It has to be me.
“…But then she showed me what my actions would lead to.” She opened her eyes again and looked up to Chrysalis and her censorious stare, the edges of her vision growing fuzzy and slightly wet. “The end.”
“Of what?”
“Everything. Every pony, every creature, every plant, tree, mountain, river… Everything. Even the sun and moon and stars themselves.” She blinked, and a tear formed, dampening the fur around her eye. A breeze blowing through almost made her shiver; the air in that world had teeth made of ice.
The queen appeared unmoved. “What did you see?”
“Nothing,” Starlight answered, barely louder than a whisper. “Just… ash and dust. And the wind howled, and it… it whispered of things. Horrible things. Towns on fire. Rivers run dry. The sky clogged with smoke and storms. No rain, only thunder and lightning. No green grass, no rolling hills. No day or night. No horizon. No life.”
Still, the queen’s expression remained unchanged.
“The world had died.” Another tear. “I’d killed it. And even seeing that, I… I refused to believe it. I brought us back to that day — the day of the rainboom — and I threatened to tear up the scroll and trap us all in the same timeline forever, telling myself it couldn’t be true. After all, how could six good friends — something I never had — be so important to the whole world?
“But deep inside… I knew. Twilight wouldn’t be so cruel. She wouldn’t share a vision as bleak as that, because in her mind… there’s always hope. Even when I was this close to ruining everything… she held out hope for me. She gave me a chance, even though I didn’t deserve it. And despite myself… I gave myself a chance too.”
Silence. Even the birds had ceased their twittering, and the leaves above her and the grass beneath her seemed unnaturally still. When the queen turned away and started slowly strolling down the hill, her hooves barely made a sound.
“I didn’t come here to fight you, or give you an ultimatum. I came here to offer you what Twilight offered me: a chance at another life. A better life. And this is coming from me — not her, not anypony else — because this path you’re on… it won’t end well. You’ll hurt yourself as much as you hurt them, and nothing will make that pain go away. I know because I tried.”
“And look where you are now,” the queen frigidly mumbled, stopping and angling her head just enough to cast a grim eye over her shoulder. “Thick as thieves with those who hurt you the most.”
“The fault lay with me.” Starlight sniffed and wiped her tears away with a foreleg, standing and ambling toward her. “I overreacted to something they had no part in, and when they rightly interfered, I took it out on them. I’m not that pony anymore.”
“And I’m not you.” Chrysalis turned and stood side-on to her, frowning, but not nearly as dangerous as she’d once been. “We aren’t the same.”
“I understand.”
“No, you don’t. You think everything can be solved with the flick of a switch, because that’s all you’ve ever known. But it can’t. Not all can forgive, and none forget. I’m one of them.”
“Only if you choose to be.”
Her eyes narrowed, more unimpressed than malevolent. “As if there’s choice involved.”
Starlight held her gaze, but made no reply; she knew an explanation would follow.
The queen lingered on her for a long moment, and then past her and up the hill. “Do you know what this place is?”
She lingered on the queen too, now finding herself somewhat cautious of the lecturing tone. But eventually, she also looked up the hill.
The tree was twisted and gnarled, fat at the base and thin at the top. Its trunk was hollow and rotten, yet smoothed over like sun-baked driftwood. Its roots were winding and exposed. Some parts of the timber were black and others grey, as if it’d been partially burned and dead for an age.
And yet, it lived.
Its canopy of leaves was bountiful and healthy, as if freshly grown. Tranquil, strangely, in its own way, despite the initially rugged appearance. What species it was, Starlight couldn’t say — some malformed breed of oak, she supposed, but she’d never been the studious type, and certainly not in the field of botany.
“No,” she finally answered. “I assume it’s rather important, though.”
“This, Starlight Glimmer… is my birthplace.”
She snapped back to Chrysalis in mute shock.
The queen didn’t seem to notice, staring forlornly at the tree and all its many haphazard crevices and swirls. “A thousand years ago, I was born from that tree. And everything I saw for miles and miles around was… ugly. Barren. Desolate, lifeless. No care put into the land. No love to be found. So, I led my children west, and it wasn’t until a week later that we found ourselves at Equestria’s doorstep.”
“A week?” Starlight echoed, glancing out across the plains. “But the closest settlement is—”
“You forget, child, your kingdom was young once.” Chrysalis leered down at her without moving her head. Her gaze was heavy, like a mother imparting a harsh lesson. “It’s a time your precious Sisters have little love for, as they hadn’t yet made their vision of a perfect world a reality. But when we arrived at Timbucktu… you can only imagine how desperate we were.”
A light, but undeniably cold veil descended over Starilight’s back and withers. Despite this being ancient history, it had happened, and she was standing face to face with the changeling who did it. “I don’t need to,” she said frostily. “There is no Timbucktu.”
The queen smiled.
Starlight’s gaze hardened. It wasn’t a sadistic grin or a haughty smirk, merely showing acknowledgement on how she’d done her homework, but taking any pleasure in such a distasteful subject wasn’t a good sign.
“Indeed,” Chrysalis intoned, and now her smile became a grin. “It was a beautiful city too, so high in the sky. The palace alone was a sight to behold, so finely shaped you could’ve sworn it was made from polished marble. And Orion, the poor king… if only he had more love to give. The whole thing was such a shame, really, though I must say, his crown has served me well.”
“You’re not sorry?”
The grin faded to something more serious. “We were starved. We needed food. I won’t apologise for doing what had to be done.” She raised a foreleg and turned it on its side, inspecting it in a slow, resentful manner. “Besides, I’ve earned my scars. Celestia made sure I knew how welcome I was when she gave me these.”
Against her better judgement, Starlight found herself drawn to the limb as well, examining the holes and how most went straight through to the other side. It was a rather light punishment for all the wrong Chrysalis had done, but she hadn’t come here to dispense justice for evils millennia old.
“No, Starlight Glimmer, I’m not sorry,” the queen murmured, returning her forehoof to the ground and locking eyes with her again. This time, her gaze and tone were both reproachful, but the calm, quiet tone betrayed a hint of genuine pity. “I am a changeling. I am a queen. I’ve lived my whole life without remorse, and even if I wanted to, today won’t be the day I start.”
“I don’t expect you to feel sorry for what you’ve done,” Starlight said, though her words tasted sour as they left her mouth. “The past is the past. What matters is the future. And yours… It doesn’t have to be like this.”
“We aren’t the same.”
“No, we’re not,” she agreed, slowly shaking her head and lowering her attention to the grass. “I’m not a changeling. I’m not a queen. I won’t live as long as you, and I’m not a mother. For all I know, I might never be.”
Chrysalis made no reply.
“You’re a fighter, Your Majesty. I respect that. But this fight will be the end of you.” She shook her head again and met the queen’s gaze once more. “Nopony wants that. Not me, not Twilight, and not Celestia. Least of all, your children — all thirteen thousand, eight hundred and twelve.”
A deep frown snaked across the queen’s brows, and her whole body seemed to stiffen. “Don’t you speak of them as if they care for me,” she hissed.
“They do.” Starlight stepped closer, guarded but hopeful. “They won’t all admit it, but they do.”
Again, the changeling was silent.
“They’re waiting for you, Chrysalis. They’d welcome you with open hooves, I’m sure of it. All you need to do is—”
“Enough.”
Starlight paused. “Is that a—”
“I said enough,” the queen rumbled through clenched teeth, though the quaver in her voice was unmistakable, and the look in her eyes let slip how deep Starlight’s words had sunk, and how much they stung. She turned and strode back up the hill at a brisk pace. “We’re done here.”
Starlight watched as the changeling marched away, soon returning to the shade of the canopy where she sat down with her back to her. She knew this would be a nigh impossible task, and expecting a decisive answer was a fool’s hope, especially with somepony so set in their ways, but it weighed on her all the same; to have come so far, tried so hard…
She couldn’t let it stand. She didn’t want to risk a fight, no, but there had to be something else she could say that would stack the odds a little further in her favour, and not get on the queen’s bad side. It had to be benign enough to not seem inflammatory, but interesting enough to hold her attention.
Starlight’s teeth grit as she looked off into the distance as she thought of an angle of approach.
The air had grown cool and fallen still, but high above, the massive clouds were drifting away, leaving the sky evermore clear. To the west, the plains rolled like an ocean, and fields of flowers grew like ripples caught in the light of the sun. To the east, from where she’d come, a mountainous range spanned the horizon north to south, but it wasn’t intimidating; they were low, gentle peaks, more like monumental hills, craggy and scarred by weather and time, and only the tallest among them had any snow.
A tiny, brown wren hopped amongst the grass on the other side of a small, shallow ditch, perhaps chasing insects, perhaps looking for seeds — wildlife was Fluttershy’s expertise, not hers. It appeared to give up after a while, leaping into the air to find another patch, and its journey found it flying for the tree, where it perched in a spindly branch sprouting from the hollow.
The tree was growing anew.
And then she had it.
“You said this land was barren before,” Starlight quietly mused aloud, returning to Chrysalis with a newfound sense of calm, and then slowly began walking up the hill toward her. “Look at it now.”
The queen made no reply, nor did she move.
“Something wonderful can come from even the most unlikely places. I’ve seen it myself. I know it’s possible. Twilight, the Bearers, the Sisters, Cadance, the Pillars, Stygian, Discord, Thorax, even Trixie… they all know it too. Nopony is too far gone that they can’t change… but only if they give themselves a chance.”
Still, the queen remained silent.
“I’m willing to give you one, Chrysalis.” She was almost within reaching distance, but Starlight didn’t dare touching her. “I want to help you. And we can work through this together, on your own terms. You can pick the pace, and I’ll be there for you every step of the way.”
“You wish to help me, Starlight?”
She paused, blinking. It was a quiet remark, spoken more like a statement than a question — a challenge, perhaps, if she listened and gave in to her fears. But she’d dealt with worse before, and she wouldn’t back down now. “I do.”
“Then leave.”
Starlight blinked again, hesitating. “Your Highness?”
“Let me be,” the queen murmured, turning her head ever so slightly and peering back at her from the corner of her eye, her expression unreadable. “You’ve given me much to think about.”
Starlight stayed where she was, staring ahead, unsure what to make of this. On one hoof, things appeared to have gone right back to square one, but on the other…
Her tone was different. The air between them was different too. What that air had become, she couldn’t say exactly, but it wasn’t hostile. Pensive, maybe, but perhaps a better word for it would be… brooding. Not tense, or even ominous, just… thick with thoughts; things to consider. Things that needed time and space to properly mull over.
That was something she could respect. Even if part of her worried what might happen if Chrysalis were left to her own devices, she also knew she couldn’t force an answer out of her. And if she tried, then it would only lead to resentment, or worse.
Lowering her gaze with a gentle nod, Starlight quietly sighed, and felt herself deflate somewhat. “I hope you do what’s best for you,” she said, peering up at her from behind apprehensive brows.
The queen lingered on her for a long while, motionless and unblinking, but then slowly looked away, staring off toward the horizon. “As do I.”
Indeed, it wasn’t the answer she’d been hoping for, but it wasn’t a rejection, and they hadn’t come to blows. “Goodbye, Your Majesty,” Starlight farewelled, giving a small, resigned bow as she did so, then reluctantly turned away and started ambling down the hill. “I wish you well.”
Once more, the queen was silent.
And she was left with nothing yet again.
Author's Note
