Strange Letters from a Queen Bug Horse

Chapters

1: Received via dragon-mail.
3: Left on a cluttered desk.
4: Atop a silk sheet.
5: Sent via the daily post.
6: "That was faster than I expected."
8: Found in a personal satchel.
11: On a surprise salad.
13: Tied to a brick.
14: Tied to a second brick.
15: Tied to a third brick.
16: Tied to a fourth brick.
17: Delivered via secret courier.
18: Delivered via secret courier.
19: "Hey, dweebs! Fresh meat!"
21: Carried across the Badlands.
22: In a hollow pumpkin.
23: Sent via the daily post
25: "I really should have expected that."
Dubiously Canonical Minisode: "Twilight, you cast a spell named 'summon fish'."
26: Left on a cluttered desk.
27: Sent via the daily post.
2: Found in the private cake cabinet.
7: Underneath a cloche.
9: Fastened to headwear.
10: Sent via the daily post.
12: Delivered via pegasus courier.
20: Sent via the daily post.
24: Hoof-delivered via awkward changeling.

1: Received via dragon-mail.

Dear Princess Celestia,

Yes, I know. No, I’m not going to get in the way of that ridiculously delicate plan you’re making the world depend on—though you can expect me to intercede with all apropriate force if it fails, as I expect it probably will. I don’t care much about which particular pony sits on that throne of yours, but I like eating salads, and from what I understand a complete lack of sunlight will cause trouble with that kind of thing.

But I’ll get to the point: I want to go public, come out of the shadows, all that stuff. I have in mind a crown union, as in the olden days of Equestria before unified rule: an exchange of new titles, and a reciprocal extension of inheritance law. We would then the both of us enjoy the privileges of and obligations of duty towards both nations. I’m certain I could manage some suitably photogenic excuse for the reveal: some blather about ancient curses, poor pitiful changelings being awakened to their ancient glory by that junior alicorn you’re keeping in your pocket, mumble mumble aid to Equestria in its hour of need, blah blah blah.

There’s a whole cascade of world-ending affairs that will be shortly plaguing this continent at regular intervals, and I don’t trust you to handle them on your own. If I actually expected you to successfully manage any crisis more complicated than a kitchen fire, we could have just kept the status quo of my changelings invisibly but inevitably vampirizing your ponies at a whim. But I can’t—so I have to change how things work around here so someone more competent than you (that is, me) can act publicly.

Enclosed is the address of a mailbox in Canterlot. Send me your responses there and I will receive them.

Yours in questionable humor,
Queen Chrysalis

P.S. I’m sure you understand the implicit threat that comes with receiving this letter via dragon-fire mail from within your own castle. I’m inclined to cooperation, but I’m not going to make this move without some precautions.

3: Left on a cluttered desk.

Dear Princess Celestia,

I find myself less disappointed than usual that I've finally gotten a response from you. There wasn't much point for you in trying to stake out the address, though I consider the embarrassment you went through a benefit for me. Every gossip rag in Canterlot is publishing pictures of your senior officers hiding in the bushes watching perhaps the most uninteresting law office this side of the southern latitudes. And the looks when one of your ponies finally opened their envelope and realized it was empty—!

As for the contents of the letter: I am frankly offended by the presumption that I would harm your darling little nervous wreck of a student. The prospect of endless night bores me, and as unlikely I consider the success of the house of cards you call a plan, I have no reason not to at least let you try it. If any part of it fails, of course, it will all fall apart at once, and that comes to the main subject of discussion:

The clock's ticking, Princess. More than one clock, in fact. Hundreds of clocks. Thousands. It's an entire palace wing full of clocks, all built up from floor to ceiling. There are so many clocks stacked up on each other that just the ticking is making the some of them start to shake themselves out of the pile. There's something impressive about it: I don't think you could have lined yourself for this much trouble over the next few years even if you'd tried.

You know I'm not going to tell you how I know, and I know that you know that I'm not going to tell you how I know, and you know that I know that you know that I'm not going to tell you how I know. You don't have to know how I know to know that I know that you know that I need your little ponies to sustain my little changelings. Would you rather have wolves, or shepherd dogs? I know that you know that I know that you know the right answer.

By the way, I will, of course, give you no guarantee that I will not seduce that unicorn, get her to join my book club, or otherwise subert her misplaced loyalty in you to service me. Do have fun trying to handle that without stamping on whatever fragile sense of societal rapport you've let her achieve.

Yours in dubious antagonism,
Queen Chrysalis

P.S. Keep the paperweight, if you like. I needed something to make this letter stand out from your usual mess, and it seemed like just the tchotchke to complement that garish mug of yours.

P.P.S. The book club's selection this month is Wuthering Hooves. Do let me know if you'd like to join.

4: Atop a silk sheet.

Dear Princess Celestia,

I had a lovely time while you were gone. There's no need to thank me for arranging for some semblance of order while you were busy off in a hole under a dungeon under the surface of the Sun or wherever it is your sister put you while you were having that little spat. It was obvious from the moment I made myself known that you hadn't prepared your ponies for even a measly day or two of eternal darkness. Do they also scream and run about when there's an eclipse or a particularly large bird flies overhead?

You and I both know know that I could have done more. Consider it a token of goodwill that I merely had a bit of fun ordering your little ponies about and taking advantage of every amenity of your private suites. Where do you even find sheets with such a high thread count? Are they some kind of royal commission? It was like wrapping my naked body in a cloud, without all the cold and damp that comes with the real thing. And that bath of yours... one could fit at least five or six hefty stallions without even trying.

I had that secretary of yours pencil in some time for the nerds to start setting up all the legal nonsense. You're going to be changing everything to write your sister back into the government, so it's as convenient a time as any to lay the groundwork for unification. It would really be more convenient if you were an unabashed and unrepentant tyrant like me, instead of pretending to rule by law while intermittently editing history, but I suppose you're not competent enough to keep your ponies in order without the extra support.

If this goes well, perhaps we could even meet in person. Or maybe we already have? Are you entirely sure that none of the ponies in your court are actually me? I'm sure you understand that the temptation to laugh at your follies in person is immense, no matter how unwise it would be for me to, for example, take the place of your servants and arrange for a door to open to crowd of ponies at the precise moment you find yourself in a compromising position with your newly-returned sister.

Yours in future abutment,
Queen Chrysalis

P.S. I took that horrid chimeric statue you keep in the gardens. There's a certain appealing repugnance about it. It will make a delightful decoration for my throne.

5: Sent via the daily post.

Dear Twilight Sparkle,

I write to you from the Canterlot Historical and Nonfactual Generalist Educational Learning in Natural Gregariousness Society, having recently learned of your newfound position as head librarian of the town of Ponyville. While we are an organization of no great repute, we have recently begun to fund a number of subsidized book club programs in Canterlot under a literary endowment program. I'm writing to ask if you might be interested, in your capacity as librarian, in running the first such book club supported by us in Ponyville. Among other minor amenities, we are able to make monthly book selections available via mail-order at wholesale prices, and we have basic educational materials available for each book.

If you are interested, do reply and we will respond shortly to arrange the details.

Yrs. sincerely,
Liminal State

P.S. Next month's book is The Haunting of Hill Horse.

6: "That was faster than I expected."

Just after Twilight had closed the letter box and stepped back inside the library tree, there was a knock at the door.

The one knocking was a narrow-faced unicorn mare, remarkably tall and slender, with a pristine pink-white coat and tired eyes. Her mane was dark green, pulled up into a bun with a few strands trying to escape. Her cutie mark was a pair of outlined masks, one happy and the other sad, though her own expression was set into happily relaxed unhappiness.

"Twilight Sparkle?" said the mare on the doorstep, holding out a hoof. "Liminal State. I just got your reply."

Twilight looked over at the post box, looked back at the mare, briefly thought over the mathematics of postal delivery from Ponyville to Canterlot and travel time in the reverse direction, and then considered that earlier that same day she had seen Pinkie Pie exit a building through a closed kitchen cabinet. "That was faster than I expected," she said, and stepped back. "You can come in, it is a public library."

The library was in a state of organized chaos. Twilight guided her guest between stacks of books left in flux by a half-finished reindexing, realized that every table and chair was taken, and finally swept all the books aside in a whirl of magenta magic that left half the ground floor clear and the other half filled floor-to-ceiling with books.

"Well," Liminal State said, staring at the occupied half of the room, her ears back. But she spready out her papers on one of the cleared tables. "I've got templates for sign-up sheets, purchase orders, a provisional schedule for the next few months' books—everything is subject to change, of course, it depends on what we can get out of the publishers—"

Twilight had her nose nearly pressed against the sheet listing the future selection of books. "The Princess Bridle, Of Ponies and Prejudice, Perfection: The Impossible Pursuit... you have some interesting selections here, miss State."

"Oh, no," the mare said, her tone dry. "Misstate was my father." Twilight made a noise somewhere between a cough and a laugh. "Do call me Liminal," the mare continued. "And we do try and make our selections more consequential than the usual fluff you get from the usual book club. Books that really get at the... pony condition, so to speak." A broad, almost smug grin had spread across her face.

"It does seem nice," Twilight allowed. "But I've never run a book club before, even using materials provided by somepony. Is there a book on book clubs that you would recommend?"

"Why don't I tell you about it instead?" Liminal said. "I'll take you to lunch." The smile that had flattened out raised again. "My treat. I could really use the break, and—I do get the feeling you could, too."

"...okay, but I really can't take all that long," Twilight said. "The library does need a proper reopening sooner more than later."

"Excellent!" Liminal said, and all but pushed Twilight out the door.

"...hello?" drifted a faint, boyish voice out of the heaps of books filling half the library. "Anypony? I just woke up and I'm kind of stuck..."

8: Found in a personal satchel.

Author's Note

I've retroactively snuck this in between the original 7 and 8, to adjust the implied tone around the use of Equestrian diplomats. The other parts have been renumbered accordingly.

8: Found in a personal satchel.

Dear Shining Armor,

I do appreciate your efforts at guarding this little ongoing diplomatic convention that's sprouted up in your city. You have, to your credit, attempted to do your job as well as you can in the face of uncertainty, impromptu scheduling, and your inevitable paranoia about whether my own goals include replacing your rulers with some kind of terrifying parasitocracy.

But with that said: your ponies just aren't very good at this whole 'guarding' thing. This is a fact, not a taunt or a threat. I had one of my changelings mingle with your guards, just to see what she could get away with. It took three hours for any of them to notice that she was out of place. Three hours, Shining Armor. Do consider the damage I could have done, if I was so inclined—or the damage that could have been done to my changelings. You have some inkling of what we can do and you haven't even set up passwords, let alone real discipline for anything that doesn't require standing in one place for long periods.

You can fix this. I'll be expecting that you do, as one of your future superiors. If you decide that you can't accomplish the task yourself, I can loan you some of my specialists to correct your guards' deficiencies. Isn't that an embarrassing thought? You can consider it extra motivation.

Yours in vague bemusement,
Queen Chrysalis

P.S. There's no need to reply. I'll know how things are going.

11: On a surprise salad.

if not for the bits of it they found scattered across the tri-county area for the next few days. It was hilarious.

Now that I've gotten through the critically important news, Princess, how are you? I find myself in an exceptional mood this week for reasons I will not deign to share, but that certainly have nothing to do with a gradual infiltration of your banking system and slow seizure of the basic mechanisms of inflation and state lending. Not that I would confirm if I was or was not doing that, but if I was it would not be the reason for my happiness, which it isn't. But: for once, I actually feel like wishing you well. What do ponies even write in these things, anyway? I've never seen any great value in small talk. Oh, whatever. Send some of that fluff I know you're so good at, and I may even read it.

Yours in good feeling,
Queen Chrysalis

P.S. I do hope you enjoy the salad. I made it myself.

P.P.S. Don't eat the letter. This ink hasn't been tested for pony consumption.

13: Tied to a brick.

WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?!

14: Tied to a second brick.

A FULL-GROWN DRAGON. REALLY.

15: Tied to a third brick.

You had no backup plan. I'm sure of that. One of my changelings arrived just in time to see five of those mares battered and bruised and the sixth in a place that, with a dragon of my temperament, would have made her a quick snack.

I'm working with you for my own sake, Celestia. We need the Elements. Both of us. Sombra's coming back and whatever little tricks you used to get rid of him last time won't be enough—and if he overcomes that pitiful herd of half-wits you call a guard force, how am I supposed to sustain my changelings?

Power of friendship, intra-pony bonds, blah, blah, blah, yes, yes, I get that. But you can't just rely on that! Not everything goes according to your schemes! Hasn't the trouble I've been causing for you already taught you that lesson?

If you're not going to prepare for these things properly, I'll be operating my own fallback plans. Those mares are already quite happy with their new friend for helping them get down off the mountain, you know.

16: Tied to a fourth brick.

P.S. I'm not paying for the windows.

17: Delivered via secret courier.

Tymbal:

You and your squad are one of the worst heaps of incompetent ninnies I have ever had the displeasure of ruling over. You had a simple job: observe, report, protect. A nymph could have done it! A group of trained squirrels could have done it! I established those covers for you myself, you imbecilic blockhead!

And I find out that instead of doing your job, you were helping children make catapults. The only reason I even know what happened is that Kevin went off on his own when you stopped paying attention! If I find that dragon again I have half a mind to feed you to it myself. How could you let that childish distraction be more important than obeying the directives of your queen?

No. Don't bother trying to come up with an answer. This is a written missive, you dolt, you can't talk to it! Kevin gets to stay. At least he tried. The rest of you are immediately removed from duty. Go back to the hive and stay out of my sight. If I have to take notice of you again you'll really be in for it.

C.

18: Delivered via secret courier.

I DON'T CARE IF THEY WERE TREBUCHETS YOU'RE STILL FIRED

19: "Hey, dweebs! Fresh meat!"

The griffon hen was big, even for one of her kind. She was a full head taller than the usual pony mare, with black and grey feathers and a black coat that glimmered with a black jaguar's faintly iridescent spots. She moved like an avalanche: gracefully, but with the promise of entombing any creature who stood in her way. In the open wake she left in Canterlot's busy evening traffic walked a smaller unicorn mare, dark-coated and short-maned with meteoric streaks for a cutie mark.

"This way, Shooty," the griffon said as she turned down a side street. The street descended and twined past arching buildings, and the traffic thinned but didn't stop as they left the main avenues. The both of them ignored the pegasus traffic that flitted persistently overhead in the moonlight.

The unicorn turned her head this way and that, but she walked without the unsteadiness of the usual rubbernecker. "Thy nicknames are least appreciated—'Grizelda'. If I am to be Shooting Star, then Shooting Star I am to be, not... 'Shooty'."

The griffon snorted as she turned a corner. "Nicknames are part of life, Starry," she said, and she casually stepped over a quivering earth pony mare, barely more than a filly, who had frozen in place at suddenly being face to face with her. "You wanna deal with the plebs, you gotta take it." Her voice was a contralto, rough-edged as a cat's tongue.

Shooting Star gave the mare a second glance and a pat on the shoulder, glanced up at the narrow street's skyline, and hurried ahead. "If thou must insist on anything, let it be just 'Star'," she said.

"Uhh, I can do that, I guess," the griffon said, and she turned again. "Here's the place."

It had been a gatehouse or tollhouse once, in a past era, before age and neglect had let it decay. Some clever pony had claimed up part of the broad balcony it hung against and rebuilt it into an open-air cafe. Past the narrow arch of the entrance the space opened out with low tables, most of them attended by ponies with mugs and some with plates, and almost all of them with a view of the evening moon.

"Hey, dweebs!" Grizelda announced as she threaded her way past tables. The place—BEAN COUNTER said the sign over the entrance arch—was one where the ponies didn't flinch away from the presence of the huge griffon. "Fresh meat!"

Behind her, Shooting Star stared as a cluster of ponies at a set of back tables greeted the griffon. She finally had to move forward as a pegasus behind her coughed politely, and she made her way to Grizelda with more of an awkward shuffle than smooth grace. There, she saw, an arrangement of tables had been covered in miniature terrain and what she took to be miniature soldiers. "Ah—salutations?" she offered to the cluster of ponies there.

"Oh, you're the pony that Griz was talking about?" said one of them, and Shooting Star realized with a start that he was that handsome captain of the Guard, Shining Armor, though without any of his namesake. "I'm Shining Armor," he said, redundantly.

"Just watch out for her gettin' all 'forsoooth' and whatever, it's a whole thing where she's from," Grizelda said. She turned to lean over one of the tables, with her beak drifting just past the ear of a bespectacled rail-thin pony who was so focused on the miniature recreation of a Minosic border skirmish that he didn't notice at all.

Shooting Star looked at her, frowned, and turned back to Shining Armor. "Aye, that w-I am," she said, and paused. "Shooting Star," she said, too late to be smooth about it and too early to be enticingly cool. "And what has my companion been talking about... about?" she said, as her frown grew.

"Oh, oh, it's nothing bad, if that's what you're worried about," Shining Armor said, almost chuckling. "Just that you're new to Canterlot like she is, and that you might be a little... old-fashioned?"

Behind him, a stout pony let out a honk of surprise as Grizelda interrupted the chatter of her ongoing whatever-it-was, then a whoop of triumph as the griffon's murmur brought something to her attention that she had missed on the table of miniature figures.

"I will allow it," Shooting Star said in an imperious voice, "if you will explain the nature of this... gathering." She leaned her head to look past him. She was starting to understand the arrangement of ponies. Each tiny battle—if they were battles—was attended to by a handful of ponies, though not very strictly. Some had them placed in opposition; others, a more even spacing, but with fewer of the little figures and less elaborate terrain.

"She didn't tell you?" Shining Armor said, and his ears perked up.

"I ain't tellin' nobody nothin' when I can make you dweebs do it, Bighorn," Grizelda called from over where she had taken perch to watch a tiny recreation of what looked suspiciously like a Lunar-Solar skirmish to Shooting Star.

Shining Armor rolled his eyes. "We do wargaming nights," he said. "Well—it's not all wargaming, but that's the main thing. Our friend—" —there was a gently mocking lilt to his voice— "—Grizelda helped set up a lot of it, actually. You have a little army, and there's rules and dice to make sure it's fair, and—why don't I show you instead? Griz doesn't bring ponies if they won't 'get' it, and it makes more sense when you see it in action."

Later, with her rooms overflowing with painted wooden miniatures, Luna would begin to wonder how the changeling queen had so accurately divined her weakness.

21: Carried across the Badlands.

Pharynx:

Estimate (noun): a rough or approximate calculation.

Consider that. Cool your fins. Use your brain. You do have a brain, don't you? You haven't removed it to make room for more muscle?

I gave you estimates. I'm not going to come back to the hive and hold your hoof just because you think I'm taking too long. This is a new way of doing things and ponies can hardly be trusted to act in a timely manner... and you know as well as I do that changelings competent enough to run a full infiltration operation on their own are hard to find.

The railway surveying party will reach the border soon. I've included another copy of the estimated route, in case you've lost yours. And I will repeat for you, again: I am expecting of you that their time with our 'local guides' will be entirely uneventful. They will be unhappy and nervous from the effects of magic deprivation. Don't use it as an excuse to terrorize or feed on them. We need to get this done before winter really sets in to start construction in the spring, and I've already had to stretch just to get this group to agree.

If you want to remain my regent, you'll do this properly.

Continue regular updates.

C.

22: In a hollow pumpkin.

Dear Princess Celestia,

So, Princess, are you ready for Nightmare Night? Oh, it's early, but it's never too early for creatures like you and me. Do you have your costume picked out? It's not very long now. Are you going to do the same thing as the last four hundred and thirty seven years and just spend the entire time hiding in your palace while leaving your sister to deal with the common pony? A very exclusive source has let me know that she plans to visit Ponyville. Oh, don't even think about going along, you'd just cramp her style—but how do you think she'll feel when she learns that you don't even take part in this ridiculous little holiday that you invented in her name?

If you can't come up with anything at all, you could always turn to me. Your sister can attest to the disguises I can make even for you ponies. Wouldn't it be interesting to get out among the common folk? Why, you could even even try to get a proper understanding of what the common pony thinks of your sister on this, the one special day of the year you've designated to single her out for fear and hatred.

As for me, I was thinking that I might try 'changeling' for a costume. It's the kind of look that would really become me, you know?

I will give you a moment here to put your head in your hooves and murmur to yourself: 'Chrysalis, no.'

Now we shall continue my rebuttal: Chrysalis, yes. This can be our little soft introduction, with your ponies so inclined on Nightmare Night to look at anything out of the ordinary as a trick or costume.

And just think: you'll finally get to find out what we look like.

Yours in childish frights,
Queen Chrysalis

P.S. 'Nightmare Night' is certainly catchy, but you really should have tried to push for a less specific theme.

Author's Note

"Luna Eclipsed" has been pulled out of order here from Season 2 for the simple fact that the show has very, very little that's distinctly set in the autumn as opposed to spring or summer.

23: Sent via the daily post

Fluttershy
That little cottage on the edge of Ponyville uncomfortably close to the Everfree Forest
Ponyville

You're good with animals, right? I heard from Shining Armor (he's Twilight Sparkle's brother), who heard from Twilight Sparkle (she's your friend), that you (you're you) are really good with animals. Like, spooky good with animals. Like, spooky good with animals. You are spooky good with animals, right? There was this whole story about how you wrestled a bear into submission and now it brings you a daily tribute of honey, and that time you hypnotized a manticore into thinking it's just a housecat.

So here's the deal! I've gotten tangled up with this whole animal shelter thing in Canterlot. It's new, it's a mess, there's like a hundred miles of paperwork for everything and we've got to deal with inspectors constantly, and I guess most of it works OK but some of these animals are just so messed up, like there's this one dog that goes crazy every time it sees a pony with a blue coat and do you know how many ponies there are like that? And that's before even getting to the really weird stuff, like there's this one thing like a lion head on a wheel made of legs and what do you even do with that?

Anyway, like, I figure we could use another specialist in this stuff, and nepotism has always worked out for me (does friend of a friend's sister count as that?), so you want a job? The pay's good and we wouldn't need you all the time, just to come in to look at the weird ones like that lion thing or this one case where a swarm of rats keeps giving ominous omens and stuff.

Grizelda, the big griffon
Heartfelt Animal Adoption
New Retail District (the old new one, not the new new one)
Canterlot

25: "I really should have expected that."

"Oh, Spike," Twilight said. She was frowning—too many ponies along the way had misidentified her Star Swirl the Bearded costume—but tried to keep it out of her voice. "It looks like we're here—"

Twilight turned. A dark figure loomed over her, face shadowed by the moon that framed it. It shined in the starlight, glistening, chitinous. A huge sharp and twisted horn menaced her, and the creature hissed at her with glowing green eyes and a mouthful of fangs.

Twilight screamed and punched it in the face with a hoof. It fell back against the bushes, and Twilight gasped for breath from the sudden shock.

"I really should have expected that," it said, with a familiar voice. It straightened up again, rubbing a hoof against its face where Twilight had walloped it.

"Liminal?" Twilight said. She looked again. Heat crept up her cheeks as she saw the familiar shape of the muzzle under whatever was providing the black shell, and the same unhealthily slim figure. Some trick trick made the hair membraneous and patchy, but the way it hung loosely around her head was the same, and the diaphanous wings that jutted up from her back could easily be a costume piece. "Oh, I am so, so sor—"

"Don't be," Liminal interrupted. She blinked a disconcertingly green eye rapidly, then rubbed at it more with her hoof. "I was the one who couldn't resist giving you a scare. And I'm sturdier than I look." She made a dismissive gesture.

"But I..." Twilight said, and then Liminal gave her an unimpressed look with her eyes half-lidded, and she gave up trying to protest. "You're sure you're all right?"

"Yes, yes, I'm fine. How do you like my look as a changeling?" Liminal said. "Am I sufficiently terrifying and-or seductive?" Liminal gestured loosely at herself with a longer-than-usual leg and turned in a tight circle.

"Limmy, you're less 'seductive' than I am," Twilight said, and she half-suppressed a snort of a laugh. "But you are scary. That old mare's tale—aren't changelings supposed to look like the ponies they're imitating?" She tilted her head to look closer at the holes through what must be short stilts. "Why so... insectile?"

"Don't tell me you're a trypophiliac, Twilight," Liminal said, nudging her muzzle away. "It's one of the more classic interpretations, actually. A few of my friends and I got together to coordinate looks for the night, and this is what we settled on. And isn't Star Swirl a little obscure, even for you?"

"Thank you for recognizing the costume," Twilight said. "Unlike some dragons I could name." One of her ears flicked.

Spike shrugged and stuffed another handful of hard candies, wrappers and all, into his mouth.

"And Star Swirl the Bearded is hardly obscure!" Twilight huffed. "He was—"

"—completely unrecognized by a cross-section of average ponies from this town?" Liminal interrupted. "But just a moment. I need to get some of that horrible festival food." She strode away through the crowd. Her extended legs elevated her from merely tall to Princessly heights, and ponies readily parted around her. Some shrieked or giggled nervously or both as they came face-to-face with fangs and black chitin.

Twilight hurried after her, nearly dragging along Spike, and caught up in time to see Liminal efficiently chewing her way through an entire spiral-cut deep-fried potato. Three more floated along in the green aura of her magic.

Twilight did the math in her head and edged away from the slightly-too-eager pegasus pony potato purveyor's pugnacious potato presentation. "Just one of those must be a thousand calories. How do you stay so skinny?" It was blunter than she'd have been with her other friends. Liminal was sharp-edged, but she allowed the same from those around her—sometimes welcomed it, even.

"It's in my nature. I can never gain weight. Oh, these are awful," Liminal said happily as she stuffed more potato into her mouth. She chewed vigorous and swallowed and Twilight wondered how the fangs stayed neatly in place even while eating. "So much grease. Want one?" Liminal said, and Twilight shook her head firmly as the taller pony tried to proffer a potato at her.

Spike raised a hand to take one, and Twilight tried not to sigh. It would at least mean his dinner wasn't only candy.

"Hey, Twilight!" squealed Pinkie Pie as she bounded up in a chicken costume, loosely followed by a collection of foals in all shapes, sizes, and outfits. "Look at my—" She looked up at Liminal, then further up to see her eyes, then back down to see the fangs again, and then shrieked and jumped into the bushes. She left behind, in midair, bags that scattered candy everywhere as they fell.

Instant chaos resulted among the foals as they scattered to grab candy. Liminal hissed at them like a predatory cat but didn't move, and some darted nearly into her reach to grab a piece before scrambling away again.

"Oh no!" Pinkie Pie called from the bushes, just her chicken-beak protruding. "First Kevin and now you? Pretty soon there will be changelings everywhere! Replacing princesses! Sneaking into weddings to feed on the bride and groom! Painting bright colors on mooses just because they can!"

"I do hope there will be no replacing of princesses," said a short-maned, dark-coated unicorn mare in a rather nice witch costume as she navigated her way between the racing foals. Her eyes were on Liminal.

"I will endeavor to avoid moose-painting," Liminal said in a dry tone. "And everypony knows the plural of 'moose' is 'meese', anyway."

In the bushes, Pinkie Pie gasped dramatically.

"But Shooting Star, it's nice to see you again," Liminal said, and she offered the smaller mare a leg with holes in it. "Have you met Kevin? He's doing the whole bug-pony thing too, and I understand he's running some of the entertainment. Something to do with pumpkins and trebuchets..." She frowned minutely, looking off into the distance.

"The plural of 'moose' is 'moose', Lim," Twilight said.

"Meese," Liminal said.

"Moose!" Twilight said.

"Meese," Liminal said.

"Moose," Twilight said.

"Moose?" Liminal said.

"Yes, moose!" Twilight said.

Liminal considered for a long moment, then took a bite of one of her still-floating potatoes, chewed, and swallowed. "Meese," she said.

Twilight sunk her head into one hoof, and watching them, Shooting Star made a noise suspiciously like a laugh muffled by a tightly-shut muzzle.

Dubiously Canonical Minisode: "Twilight, you cast a spell named 'summon fish'."

Author's Note

This happens sometime after 25, if it ever happens at all.

Dubiously Canonical Minisode: "Twilight, you cast a spell named 'summon fish'."

Twilight groaned and rubbed her head. A long, hot shower had finally gotten rid of the smell—from her, anyway, and she wondered how long it would take to clean the library—but the hot water had only temporarily eased her bruises. "I just don't know what went wrong," she said, as she watched the bucket brigade slowly empty wagonload after wagonload of trout out of the tree.

Liminal looked at the tree, and looked back at her sitting on the lawn, and said, "Twilight, you cast a spell named 'summon fish'."

"Yes! Summon fish! I had a fish tank and everything," Twilight said. "It was simple. The spell worked perfectly, so how did this even happen?"

"Summon feesh," Liminal said.

Suddenly Twilight understood. Slowly, to not aggravate the bruises, she lowered herself to the grass and then pressed a hoof against her face.

26: Left on a cluttered desk.

Dear Princess Celestia,

I had a moment of vertigo today. I was looking at the snow, and I thought—the first snow of the season, already? Can the year have passed by that quickly? The last Hearth's Warming felt like it was only yesterday, and now it's sneaking up again night by night. And I thought, faintly: for the common creature, they run out. Eventually there's a last Hearth's Warming Eve, a last Hearts and Hooves Day, a last Summer Sun Celebration—and if a creature is wise or lucky, it might be a peaceful, happy one.

But for the rarefied sort, you and I... what if there isn't? I saw that, I think, just for a moment, that infinite regression. What's a thousand years? Barely anything. But a thousand thousand? Are we striding forward at a snail's crawl into geologic time? Picture yourself, Princess, one day when the continents have shifted, when mountains have fallen and risen, when even the exceptionally static pony society you prefer has changed so far that if you saw it now you wouldn't recognize it.

I thought of the archeologists and antiquarians. Will I be able to walk among them one day, in long ages when rivers have changed their courses and mountains have fallen, and watch them excavate places I once lived? How much will I even remember of these days, when a thousand generations have passed? I might find myself looking at the ancient ruin of a thing that was once my own royal chamber and find myself knowing less about it than the mortal scholars specialized in my own history.

Of course, in your case it's a bit easier. Maintaining a consistent chronology into those endless ages will, at least, be simple: you'll just have to keep track of how the newly-built doorways get wider over time to let you fit.

Yours in overthinking it,
Queen Chrysalis

P.S. Do give my laudations to Princess Luna for the success of her little surprise appearance at Ponyville's Nightmare Night festivities. From what I understand, the townsfolk quite enjoyed the shock of 'Nightmare Moon' showing up near the end of the night.

27: Sent via the daily post.

Author's Note

"Hearth's Warming Eve" is out of order here, in order to add a little more substance to the winter season.

27: Sent via the daily post.

Twi,

I'll thank you for the invite, but I have to turn you down.

First: the flattery of my costume design skills. I cheated. I'm not going to tell you when, where, or how, yet. You'll find out eventually. For now, you may take it as a given that any contribution I could make with needle and thread would be at best useless and at worst at least somewhat hazardous to anypony in the general vicinity.

(But thank you.)

Second: It is true I have a great love for the theater. It is also entirely true that, by all rights, I should be an extraordinary actress—though I will note that, while you are correct, you have made an extraordinary jump to conclusions merely from my extremely talented imitation of your friends and townsponies. Anecdotes are not data, Twilight, as this contradiction will immediately prove:

I get stage fright, Twilight.

I've tried. In every context but the theater stage, I prevaricate and imitate and reticulate very neatly, but on the stage with an audience I freeze. I will not offer further context but to mention that some time before the last Summer Sun Celebration I attempted to take part in a Canterlot theater troupe and enjoyed a glorious career that ended in unexpected retirement thirty seconds into the first performance with an audience.

Thus, no, I will not take part in your Hearth's Warming Eve pageant, though I will wish it success. I will make an appearance if I can, but I am more than likely to be extraordinarily busy for some fifteen-tenths of that day and twelve-tenths of the next. You already know my complaints about my excessively large family, and I am a lynchpin of more than one business and charitable venture that will be very busy for Hearth's Warming.

Lim.

P.S. Have you considered inviting Kevin? I understand he quite enjoys that kind of thing.

2: Found in the private cake cabinet.

Dear Princess Celestia,

It was hilarious watching you try to interrogate your own staff and guards. You're not very good at this kind of thing, are you? I particularly liked how that one maid ran off crying after admitting that she was the one who ate that slice of cake three years ago. It was all pointless, anyway: any infiltrator of mine in your castle would have had the role for years. Of course, you understand the mind games are obligatory, and there may or may not be any changelings already situated close to you.

It could even be that I've spent decades slowly replacing every position in the castle with a changeling, so that you and the unicorn and that pudgy little dragon are the only non-changelings who live there. It's not very likely, but you have to think about it now, don't you? Come to think of it, that unicorn and her whole family might be changelings. How much do you really know about them? Isn't it rather convenient that they're all so close to you and to that ingénue in pink?

I'll be generous. My offer still stands, even after your pitiful sneeze of a betrayal attempt. I'll even extend my grace: you can attempt to find my changelings all you like, and so long as none come to harm, I'll refrain from sneaking thumbtacks into all of your seat cushions. Of course, you're not actually going to find any—you don't even know what we look like!—but I just wouldn't be me if I didn't taunt you with the possibility.

You should really take this seriously, though. It's only a week to the Summer Sun Celebration, and you know what that means. Wouldn't you prefer making friends over enemies?

Yours in endless mockery,
Queen Chrysalis

P.S. Please forward my compliments to the royal bakery: your triple fudge cake is fantastic. Just in the moment I took the first bite, I began to understand how you could have let yourself grow so prodigious. You really were more attractive back when you were a bit smaller, though.

7: Underneath a cloche.

Dear Princess Celestia,

I've eaten your second breakfast. I do hope you don't mind: just thinking about political bother makes me terribly peckish, and you could really use the diet. You could really use the diet. Have you seen yourself from behind recently? Whatever trick you're using to stay so shapely won't help much once you've expanded in scale so far that you can't fit through the doorframes anymore.

The more important matter: the political nobs you sent to that little rendezvous are worse than useless. One of them dared to say that I need declared titles before an exchange of titles can occur. Ridiculous! Do you realize how much bother that would be? My changelings are a nation of me, not a nation of laws, and all this legalist nonsense is strictly for the benefit of your little ponies. The talk about reciprocity in law was even greater nonsense. The changeling law is thus: 'Figure it out or I'll have to come over there and none of you will be happy.'

I'm certainly not going to deal with all this bother myself. If your ponies are so desperate for these formalisms, they'll be doing the work for me. I'll need to borrow them again, of course. Probably for a while, in fact, to judge by the sheer volume of noise that handful of ponies produced that I didn't care about at all.

I do hope you enjoyed the fireworks, by the by. I did take care not to set your guardsponies on fire for too long: they should merely need some thorough trims. I certainly wasn't going to let your ponies know the location of my Canterlot headquarters this early. Now, you may nitpick that I only had your would-be dignitaries taken to a rented event hall and not my headquarters at all, but it's in the principle of the thing.

Yours in strange cuisine,
Queen Chrysalis

P.S. I'm serious about the diet. I've seen your doctors' notes.

9: Fastened to headwear.

Dear Princess Celestia,

What crown does a pony duchess wear? The brains say that some kind of reciprocal ducal title blah blah blah thing is the most practical arrangement, so I'll need the appropriate regalia. In addition to my own, of course: as a queen I of course far outshine a mere princess, but I'm not going to let you see my crown early in case you get any funny ideas when you realize how greatly it outclasses the strange little tiara thing you wear. In any case, I'll be wearing two crowns. I'll also be inventing the traditional regalia for the ducal rank of the changeling nation, seeing as we've never had it before. I'm reasonably sure I can come up with something that won't clash too badly with your... you know, you.

Besides the crown, would you believe that your ponies were so unsure as to the state of your inheritance laws that I had to have my changelings go do the research themselves? It's almost as if you've never even bothered to prepare for your own demise. It's no secret that all rulers aspire to live forever, but it's simply irresponsible of you not to plan for the worst. Do you have some kind of pony blood magic in place to transfer your soul into the pink one? If you don't, all it would take is a single unlikely but not impossible accident involving a cockatrice, a set of rollerskates, a group of clowns, and a large bass to throw Equestria into chaos.

Of course, I'm also going to inevitably need a substantial amount of 'legitimate' Equestrian currency to make all of this royalty stuff work the way your ponies expect. My changelings, being inimitably more efficient than ponies, don't need to bother with the concept in the first place. What do you think? Brothels? Orphanages? Do orphanages make money? Perhaps we could make a business out of hiring out substitute princesses. The other two, I mean, not you: I'd have to leave you off-limits for risk of my changelings straining themselves too far trying to emulate your prodigious frame. Maybe I could just infiltrate your banking system directly and produce all the money I need. What are your thoughts, Princess?

Yours in interesting business,
Queen Chrysalis

P.S. I'll be needing one of those railroad lines eventually. Nothing to concern yourself with: I've already secured most of the materials from your supplies.

10: Sent via the daily post.

Dear Twilight Sparkle,

I greatly enjoyed our outing together. I do hope that you feel the same. If I overstepped my bounds, I apologize; if I understepped my bounds, you'll need to let me know, because I've never been very good at finding them either way. In any case, if you're interested in meeting again, do let me know. While my work in Canterlot keeps me remarkably busy at all hours, I might be able to slip away for a day at some point.

Yrs. sincerely,
Liminal State

P.S. I am aware that I may have made a less-than-positive impression with some of your friends. Please let them know that I hold no personal ill will towards them. As you may have already noted, I am not by nature the most genuinely social pony. That's why I was so unpleasant when the talk of my cutie mark came up. There is a story behind it, and I won't tell you the full details, but: I discovered once that my talent was to show a different face to others. For a time I made full use of that to do things I came to regret, and then I spent a long time rejecting it. It's only recently that I've started to get more in touch with that part of myself and, I hope, to use it for something like good.

P.P.S. Lack of personal ill will does not preclude dislike of apple-derived foods.

12: Delivered via pegasus courier.

Dear Princess Luna,

How are you finding this modern world? I won't get too much into the small talk here but to say that you should give your sister's private bath a try. Bring some pretty members of whatever gender you prefer along, if you have that kind of mood. Even better if one is a musician. Don't turn the taps as hot as they'll go: I've already learned, unpleasantly, that her temperature tolerances go a bit beyond those of the rest of us.

But besides that: I don't have a good read on you yet. If I needle you, will you respond in kind, or will you sulk? What do you really feel about my stated intentions for your nation? Do you even feel like it's still your nation? You were away for an awfully long time, after all, and there's really no telling what those Elements might have done to put you into your current state of mind.

In other words, I need to get to know you better. What would you say to lunch? Dinner? Coffee? Have you even tried coffee yet? I know a few places. I know a few places that can be suitably discreet about even a Princess. Or maybe you'd like the thought of venturing out as someone else? I can arrange that. Would it intrigue you, to be able to see the common pony without being recognized as an alicorn? Your sister wouldn't even have to know you were ever gone, if we timed things just right. Of course, this could all be a nefarious ploy to get you apart and alone... but are you afraid of any trap I could lay? Are you confident enough to try and get your own read on me? How will you even react to such blatant manipulation?

I've enclosed an address. Do write back if I have your interest.

Yours, if that's what you're into,
Queen Chrysalis

P.S. I'm serious about the bath. It is one of the few pony creations in this world that I genuinely envy.

20: Sent via the daily post.

Twilight,

I've thought about our conversation more, and with some time to reflect, I can put it like this: I enjoy causing hurt. Is that too blunt? I don't like that I enjoy it, and I could talk about in terms of moral expectation and mathematical expectation and the results of mutualistic cooperation—but I'd like to think that I'm mature enough to put aside the childish need to frame things in aggressively rational terms. I couldn't stand to be a hermit any more than most ponies, but when I do have pleasant company that nasty part of me insists on acting out, and tricks the rest of me with snide pleasure that lasts just about until I start wondering where everypony has gone.

I try to keep that part of myself restrained, but if I only lock it away it surges out at the worst moments. Thus it becomes a balancing act, and neither side is pleasant: you have seen my errors in one direction, but on the other side is the ice queen with anger issues that I spent a long time being. I will spare you an exhibition: those are old mistakes I would rather avoid, now that I find myself making unavoidable new mistakes at all hours.

I may find the chance to get some theater tickets soon, if you would like to take the train up—though I will confess that I've started to find a certain amount of stress relief in getting away from the city every so often. My work pulls me in every direction at once, and I feel sometimes like I'm working four full-time jobs and mothering a horde of idiot children at the same time. Barring anything else, you may expect to find me in Ponyville on the next weekend even if it's just to spend a day with my head in the fountain.

Lim.

P.S. But you do know her accent really is fake, right? She's not even good at it. There's a reason the proper snobs use vocal coaches.

24: Hoof-delivered via awkward changeling.

Dear Rarity,

No, he wasn't wearing a costume. Do I have your attention?

I find myself with the need to commission a most extraordinary dress to debut at the Grand Galloping Gala. As I am, myself, most extraodinary, the bar for this work is set very high. I also require an extraordinarily discreet dressmaker—with which I hope you understand why I haven't recruited the services of the usual fashion elite in Canterlot or Manehattan.

This dress must suit a Queen: a beautiful, tragic Queen, doomed by her nature to be an outcast, frightening in her kind and countenance to the common pony, yet struggling against fate and prejudice to bring herself into the light and perhaps to even, in some unlikely way, to find real friendship and love, hoowever brief and star-crossed it might turn out to be.

If I don't have your interest by now, I never will, and so I will leave it at that. Leave a magnolia flower in one of your front windows; I shall come to you. I will, of course, be paying triple whatever your usual rate is for such a work, to ensure your secrecy in the matter.

Sincerely,
Her Majesty Chrysalis the Third, Lady of the Most Noble Order of the Lesser Fig, Lady of the Most Ancient and Most Noble Order of the Comb, Grand Mistress of the Royal Batesian Order, Lady of the Imperial Order of the Crown of the Grand Empire of the Inconsequential Isle, Knightess Grand Collar of the Most Excellent Order of the Changeling Queendom, Relict of Her Majesty Queen Imago the Second, Queen of the Badlands, Queen of the Changeling Queendom, Queen of Her other Realms and Territories, Protector of the Changelings, Sovereign of the Most Noble Order of the Lesser Fig, whom may harmony preserve and bless with long life, health and honour and all worldly happiness.

P.S. You will of course expect future orders, should this dress be sufficiently impactful.