Lace was a beautiful thing. Chrysalis despised it.
She tugged at one of the many colorful lace bands snaking up her legs. “We breathe through our skin, you know.”
“You can’t fool me,” Chrysalis’s lead designer, an earth pony named Palette, chided her from across the room. “They teach us Changeling anatomy in school.”
Chrysalis scowled. They’d been in this room for hours now, Palette mummifying her in traditional Changeling wedding attire, Chrysalis trying to dissociate but not having much luck. How could she? This was her wedding day. She needed to keep her wits about her.
“They teach Changeling anatomy in design school?” the queen asked absently.
Palette giggled. “Gotta know where all the holes are.” She grabbed more lace from her workbench. “And the pointy bits.”
Chrysalis let out a groan. “Must you?”
“It’s imperative.” Palette went to work criss-crossing Chrysalis’s midsection with the lace. The deep blues and greens popped like peacock feathers, subdued as they were by the black of the chitin. “How’s that?”
“...Acceptable.” No matter how many layers Palette applied, it wouldn’t totally conceal the changeling beneath. Chrysalis guessed that wasn’t the point.
“This will send a strong message,” Palette said.
“And that is?”
“Your empire is legitimate and wealthy. Your bride, and by extension her kingdom, is lucky to have you. Other leaders respect you and your traditions, enough to host your very unorthodox wedding in their capitol city. This is a celebration.”
“None of those things are true.”
Palette smiled again. When she spoke, however, her voice betrayed a hint of bitterness. “Believe me, I know. You’re a bayonet, and I have to make you up like a butter knife.”
A smirk played across Chrysalis’s face. Such a comment was unusually lucid for a pony. “Remind me again how to walk so I don’t destroy your work.”
“Walk in a straight line forward. Make slow, wide turns. Have you ever piloted an airship?”
Chrysalis resisted the urge to buzz her wings in Palette's face. “No.”
“Well, just give yourself a wide berth.” Palette stooped down to work on the queen’s midsection arrangement. From the legs and neck, the lace pooled in eye-catching frills at her ribcage, bottlenecked to chitin-tightness at her midsection, then finally spilled over, down her hind legs, all the way to the floor. Her tail, like her mane, had been braided loosely, while allowing a few choice locks to fall naturally.
There was a knock at the door. The head of a royal guard peered inside, his ornately plumed helmet almost as ridiculous as Chrysalis’s getup. “Five minutes,” he announced, then shut the door without bothering to wait for a response.
“Pay that no mind,” Palette said as she returned to her work. “You’re the star of the show. If I say we’re taking a couple extra minutes, they’ll wait.”
“Take pity on the guards. It seems they’re the only ones who remember what happened the last time changelings paid a visit to this city.”
“They’re not the only ones,” Palette said softly.
Chrysalis snorted. “They taught you so much about our anatomy in school. But what did they teach you of our history?”
“Only what intersects with ours.”
“The invasions, then.”
Palette gulped. “Yes. But also the reformations.”
“Yes,” Chrysalis languished, “those. Tell me though. Do you think all those changeling kingdoms really bent the knee and embraced harmony?”
“Sometimes you have to take ponies at their word.”
“Ponies, perhaps. Not all of us are so lucky.”
“I didn’t mean--”
“If you’re such a changeling scholar, then how many years ago was my kingdom’s first incursion into Canterlot?”
“I--”
“One thousand and two years.” Chrysalis noticed a pallor on Palette’s face. “Tell me, smart pony. You’ve learned of the incursions.” She curled back her lips, flashing sawtooth teeth. “Do you think there will be more?”
Palette’s hoof slipped. Bright red pony blood wept across Chrysalis’s left leg lace. The queen instinctively reached out towards the earth pony. A delicate sound filled the room, that of fine imported lace tearing.
“Don’t move,” Palette ordered. “If you move laterally, you’ll ruin it.”
Chrysalis obeyed, forcing herself to stay still while Palette applied a bandage to her hoof.
“...I may have been carried away by old whims,” Chrysalis said as Palette returned to work. “That was quite monsterous of me to say.”
“Don’t... ugh. It’s fine.” Palette lapsed into silence. Her eyes focused solely on their work, which now consisted of threading red-spotted feathers through the shoulder pads of the queen’s dress. “Changelings aren’t monsters. You’re our friends.”
“And yet friends so often hurt their friends.”
The two fell silent. Chrysalis risked a glance in a nearby mirror. A feeling like dissociation, like the feeling she got when she caught a glimpse of one of her many masks, assailed her.
“I have worn many disguises in my life. This, I think, is the most beautiful.”
“Thank you,” Palette said. “It’s not a disguise, though. I merely accentuate.”
Feathers complete, Palette stitched some last-minute replacement lace to one side of Chrysalis‘s chest, where she’d accidentally cut through some of the original.
“
“The lace is a brilliant disguise for the pointy bits,” Chrysalis said. “You are correct when you say this sends a message. But what message, exactly?”
Palette pulled herself up to her full height. For a pony, she was quite tall. She looked the queen dead in the eyes and said, “Stop talking while I do your face.”
“Shh.”
Chrysalis obeyed. Equally important to changeling wedding attire were intricate facial tattoos made with henna dye. One started at the top of her cheek and followed her eye socket in a crescent moon shape. The other, made to resemble fangs dripping with blood, began at the sides of her mouth and fell down to her jaw.
“Not quite a butter knife,” Palette said once she was finished. “Not quite a bayonet, either.”
“Then we shall intimidate few and mollify fewer. I believe that is what you call compromise, yes?”
There came another knock at the door. The earth pony guard stuck his head in and chided, “Your highness, five minutes is up, please--urp--”
A magical glow swallowed his body up and scooted him out of the way. A moment later, the sickly bright-colored face of none other than King Thorax peered through the door.
“Ladies!” he beamed. “Sorry everyone’s being so impatient. Time waits for nopony. Not that we mind waiting or anything. But, uh, you know the old saying, time waits for--wait, I just said that...”
Chrysalis resisted the urge to facehoof and shred her dress. It still boggled her mind he was considered her equal. How insulting.
“We will be finished momentarily,” Chrysalis said. “The dignitaries will have their feast.”
“Okay! Great! Not that it’s about the feast. You and Queen Au--aah, um--”
Thorax wilted under an imposing glance from the queen. It was against all customs for a queen to know the name of her bride before they met at the altar. “Do not assume I have forsaken my culture as you have, Thorax.”
“Your highness,” Palette said, pleadingly.
“No, she’s right,” Thorax said. “I’ll just do another lap and make sure everything’s perfect. We’ll all be waiting. So, uh, take your time.”
He left in a flurry of hoofsteps and buzzing wings. Chrysalis let out a sigh of relief as the door slid shut.
“It’s hard to believe you two are the same thing,” Palette said. “No offence.”
“None taken. He’s always baffled me. A changeling who makes no attempt to disguise himself. Quite strange.”
“He’s a good creature.”
“I think he tries. Changelings are creatures of many colors. He wears his on the outside.”
Palette finished the final touches on the dress a moment later. She pulled up a floor-length mirror, and together the two creatures from disparate cultures took a moment to admire the work.
As Chrysalis moved her eyes up and down her reflection, she once again felt like she had shapeshifted without realizing it. The dress flowed like an immaculate oil painting, the lace ephemeral and floating. The dress was a haze of intricate motion that bobbed slightly at the frills as she moved around.
She turned slowly, carefully, to face Palette. “I see now. It’s ponies that are the real monsters.”
Palette gave her a confused look bordering on anger. “Excuse me?”
“Yes. You ponies--we hurt you, and you pour out your love like the wound is not there. Love is your treachery. It reveals us.”
Palette scrunched up her nose. Anger flashed in her eyes. Then, a moment later, the levy burst and she let out a long, rattling laugh. When she didn’t stop after a few seconds, Chrysalis hesitantly joined in.
When the earth pony finally got herself under control, she wiped her eyes and said, “So you like it.”
“I’ve never felt beautiful before. Not in my own skin.”
“Good. You changelings have a funny way of showing your appreciation.” Palette nodded towards the door. “Don’t rip the lace on the way out. Promise.”
“Promise what?”
“Promise you won’t rip my dress.”
“I can not.”
“Promise anyway.”
Chrysalis sighed. Ponies. Historical enemies. Food. Now allies. Not friends--not really. And yet...
“I promise.”
When the organ player noticed the queen move into position at the entrance to the throne room, she started up a traditional Changeling wedding dirge. All Changeling songs were dirges. Chrysalis couldn’t tell them apart, so many had the bards written.
All that mattered now was walking straight and making her kingdom proud. And not ripping the dress. Palette was watching, after all. As were the hundred or so dignitaries standing on either side of the aisle, bearing serious faces, fleshy and sweating in their formal uniforms.
As she walked down the aisle, she saw her bride. She wore an equally stunning lace wrap, bearing structural similarities to Chrysalis’s but differing in the finer details as the other kingdom’s culture dictated. Fine white pearls hung from the bride’s ears and neck. They also hung suspended by magical energy in a few of her larger leg holes. Those trapped in that magical field spun ever so slightly, like dancing planets without a star to orbit.
The bride was also wearing a black veil which completely obscured her face. Chrysalis knew what to expect underneath, though. Her face tattoos would be different--white dye instead of her own earthy henna, fashioned in some circular pattern. A spiral, perhaps. Changelings loved spirals.
Chrysalis took up her position next to her bride. The assembled ponies and dignitaries sat down as the ceremony began.
“Friends, dignitaries, princes and princesses,” the changeling priest announced, “you will today bear witness to a special ceremony never before seen by outsiders. Today we bind the two kingdoms of Queen Chrysalis and Queen Aurelia.”
Chrysalis heard a hum of acknowledgement float from behind her bride’s veil. She, too, was intrigued. She’d heard of this queen before. One of the rare new breed who kept the old coloration. Couldn’t be more than two hundred years old.
As the minister droned on about peace and unity, Aurelia leaned over to Chrysalis and whispered through the veil, “You die tonight, hag. I’ll eat your head when I’m done.”
Chrysalis nodded faintly. “Charming.”
“Once I devour you, my eggs will gestate in your remains and my claim to your kingdom will finally be legitimate.”
“How scandalous.”
“Puppet.”
“Bitch.”
The minister’s ears perked up. He turned his head ever so slightly. Chrysalis snapped her mouth shut. She felt a leering smile pierce through her bride’s veil.
The reception was a disastrous and pony-centric affair, deviating from tradition in ways that made Chrysalis’s head spin. The lights, the music, the dresses, the hedonic dancing of the dignitaries--it became clear then just how much culture she’d missed while she was trapped in stone.
She hated all of it. They should have hired a bard and played more dirges.
Aurelia, as the junior queen of the marriage, refused to unveil herself for the duration of the reception, as was tradition. Changelings were creatures of many colors, but to see only the black of Aurelia’s veil filled Chrysalis with unease. She would not remove it until the two were alone in the honeymoon suite--formerly known to Chrysalis as the breeding chamber.
Chrysalis soldiered through the long lines of well-wishers, staying rooted to her seat so as not to tear any lace. Aurelia stayed almost completely silent throughout the evening, so it fell on Chrysalis to do most of the talking. The veiled bride only perked up when none other than princess Twilight Sparkle approached them.
“On behalf of everycreature here, I want to extend my congratulations to you both,” the pony princess said. “You are both living proof of how friendship can surmount all obstacles.”
“Thank you, your highness,” Chrysalis said.
“Thank you, your hagness,” Aurelia sneered.
Twilight seemed utterly disaffected by the jab. Maybe it was the wine. “Queen Chrysalis, I can’t begin to describe how much this means to me personally. Seeing how far you’ve come since our first meetings--it just means so much. To all of us.”
Chrysalis, in a measured tone, replied, “To me, as well. My heart swells with pride to see my hive proliferate--not with the old imperial way, but with friendship.”
Aurelia snorted. The veil trembled like gossamer drapes pulled across open windows. “Tell me, princess,” she said, “why did you choose to let my new wife go after all this time? Why now?”
Twilight considered the question. “I felt that a thousand years in stone was enough. You needed to be punished for what you did, but you also needed to be rehabilitated.” Her eyes passed from Chrysalis to Aurelia. “You needed to be loved.”
“The other conspirators are still in stone, though--is that right? I saw them out in the prison gardens during my tour.”
Twilight flinched. “They weren’t ready. They tried to attack me when I unfroze them.”
“Pitiable.” Aurelia turned her veiled head to look directly at Chrysalis. “What made you sure my dear bride was ready?”
Chrysalis sat up ever so slightly. Inside, her mind raced. Aurelia was trying to get something from Twilight. More ammunition, perhaps. Or another excuse to eat her head and pump larvae into her body. Something to legitimize the hate burning behind the veil.
Twilight. perhaps sensing all this, said, “She wasn’t remorseful. But she also didn’t try to kill me. So I took a chance.”
A faint mote of disappointment snuck into Aurelia’s voice. “How... uncharacteristic.”
Twilight shuffled awkwardly. Her attention drifted back to the party, to what she knew. “Yes. Well. Changelings, like ponies, are creatures of many colors.”
The black veil of Aurelia’s face shifted. “So we are.”
The walk back to the honeymoon suite was agonizingly slow, in part because both princesses still had their fragile lace wrappings on. Chrysalis lagged behind Aurelia. Their hooffalls echoed down the long, empty hallways of Canterlot castle.
“Hurry up,” Aurelia said.
Chrysalis made no move to pick up her pace. She knew that as soon as that suite door shut, there would be a war. She had to be ready.
The suite itself was hewn from Canterlot marble. Everything felt tall, from the open doorway leading to the balcony to the four posts on the king-sized bed. Chrysalis noted the mattress had been replaced by a bed of soft moss. Smart. Even if they weren’t about to fight to the death, whoever survived would tear a pony mattress to shreds on the sharp points of their chitin.
Aurelia reached the door first. She made a beeline for the center of the room and spun to face her wife. Bits of lace tore from her wraps and fluttered to the floor.
“Do you have any idea how expensive those wrappings are?” Chrysalis chided from down the hall.
“Don’t keep your bride waiting.”
Chrysalis paused at the threshold. She thought of Twilight, and her droves of pony followers. Of all this hard work, all the diplomacy and statesponyship that had gone into this evening. She thought of Palette, too, and her lace. All the hours she’d put into getting it just right.
The door swung shut. Chrysalis turned around. She saw Aurelia reach up and push aside her veil.
The sight of the other queen’s face sent a cold chill up Chrysalis’s spine. Aurelia’s face was exactly identical to hers in every way, from the almondish curve of her eyes to the pattern of holes in her ears to the notches on her horn. She was a clone, born of seed banks.
For a split second, the only sound in the room was that of imported lace tearing.
Then Aurelia roared. She leapt forward and tackled Chrysalis to the floor, knocking the air from the older queen’s lungs. Lace wrappings shredded against chitin. Makeup smeared. Pearls went flying. Jewelry and bows skittered across the hardwood floor.
Chrysalis used her marginal size advantage to roll Aurelia over. She brought her hooves down as hard and fast as she could, hoping for the telltale sound of cracking chitin. But Aurelia weathered the blows, found an opening, and kicked Chrysalis across the room.
“Mine,” Aurelia spat. “All mine.” She charged forwards again. Chrysalis braced herself only to reel in surprise as she noticed an ornate glass vase sail through the air towards her head.
She ducked on instinct. The vase missed. Aurelia did not. The two tangled up and careened backwards to the floor. Chrysalis scrambled, found a lock of Aurelia’s hair, and yanked it as hard as she could. Aurelia bit down on Chrysalis’s arm, never ceasing her storm of jabs and uppercuts.
Just when Chrysalis was sure her jaw was about to break, her hoof found its way to Aurelia’s face. She dug at her eyes with all her might. Aurelia shrieked and retreated, clutching her face.
Chrysalis rose to her hooves again. They felt far wobblier this time. She was old. Out of shape. Aurelia was young and spry and fought with a warrior’s strength. If this fight stayed fair, she’d run out of steam and lose.
Lose. The word sent lightning through her bruised body. She couldn’t lose. Not after everything she’d been through. Everything she’d done. All the indignities, all the waiting. It had to mean something.
Aurelia wiped the blood off her face and charged again.
At the last possible moment, Chrysalis ducked low and swept Aurelia’s legs. Aurelia’s momentum carried her over Chrysalis, where she landed snout-first in a heap on the floor.
Chrysalis, queen of the changelings, then prisoner of stone, then queen again, leapt to her hooves and stomped with all her might on Aurelia’s back.
The chitin shattered across the length of her lower back. Green icor spurted out in a sizzling hiss, burning whatever it touched. The shreds of lace still clinging to Aurelia’s midsection burst into flames. They caught the air and flapped around the room like screaming doves.
Aurelia let out an agonizing wail that caught in her throat. Her voice cracked. She doubled over, clutching her chest. Her hind legs went limp. Tears beaded in the corners of her eyes.
Chrysalis paused at the sight of her. This was all so familiar. The haze of violence parted, illuminating a recent, horrible memory.
Chrysalis staggered back. Aurelia tried desperately to pull herself further away from Chrysalis. Her useless legs dragged behind her, smearing more icor across the floor. Imported hardwood smoldered in her wake. “No,” she moaned, over and over, “no, no, no...”
Chrysalis staggered over to her broken opponent and dragged her by the hair back to the center of the room. She straddled the broken queen, pinning her legs at her sides.
“You are made in my image,” Chrysalis said, “but you’re weak. I am the ruler now. I am your queen. Say it.” Aurelia’s cries died down to a whimper. “Say it. Pledge your loyalty to me.”
“No,” Aurelia hissed.
“If you pledge yourself to me, then I will pledge myself to you in turn. We could be equals.”
“Equals.” The rancor in her voice cracked like the chitin of her leg. “Pony words for a pony princess.”
“I am your queen, you imp--”
Chrysalis froze. Something outside caught her attention. She looked out the window, towards the balcony. The moon was out, half-full, motionless. Half of a pearl, like those shattered ornaments of Aurelia’s.
The fight drained out of her. She heaved a sigh. The adrenaline high began its slow dissolution.
“Do you want to know the real reason why Twilight spared me when I came out of stone?” Chrysalis asked.
Aurelia stayed valiantly, vainly silent.
“When I came out of stone, I was dazed. I fell to the ground and couldn’t get up. My other compatriots were quicker to their wits. They jumped the princess. Twilight resealed them before they could lay a hoof on her. It was that easy for her. The power of that pony is beyond our comprehension.” She paused to regain her breath. “So I laid there. And Twilight came up to me. And when I saw her, do you know what I did?” A wan laugh escaped her mouth. “I cried. I begged for mercy. I groveled like a larva at the hooves of a queen. I swore ambitious promises without thinking. I promised I would change. That my kingdom would change. That whatever hives that hadn’t already been converted would see the light.” Her lips peeled back to expose her sawblade teeth, meant for cracking chitin. “Do you see it, Aurelia?”
Aurelia’s wide, terrified eyes closed. Her breathing slowed to nearly nothing. She looked aside, offering Chrysalis her neck. She was finished. For the first time in millenia, there was a new queen in Canterlot.
But instead of sinking her teeth into Aurelia’s neck and finishing the job, Chrysalis leaned down and placed a gentle kiss just above her collarbone.
The younger queen’s eyes snapped open in shock. Her mouth opened, and her chest started to heave again. Sweet, confused relief flooded the air. It tasted strange.
“I see the light,” Chrysalis whispered. Then she rose, leaving the broken Aurelia on the floor. Changeling queens were resilient. By this time the following evening, her broken spine would be healing itself. In a few more days, she might even walk. Perhaps, after a week’s time, she would be well enough to repeat the dance they shared just a moment ago. That was what all happy couples wanted, after all--for the passion of their wedding night to extend beyond the realm of their honeymoon chambers.
At any rate, the straw looked soft, and Chrysalis was tired.
“See you in the morning... wife.”
Chrysalis lit up her horn and drew the blinds. The light dimmed to near nothing, all the edges made smooth, the moon a shattered pearl, the two queens’ silhouettes chitin beneath fine lace.
