Letters from a Senior to a Junior Changeling
~one~
My dear Earwig,
I will begin by saying how pleased I am with how quickly you have gained entry into the life of that pony to whom I’ve assigned you. To adopt a beguiling and alluring form is by far the simplest way to a stallion’s affections, and that your body has so easily attracted his notice bodes well. Indeed, those who are drawn to a pretty face are the simplest for us to bend to our needs, for they can most easily be blinded to those changes in behavior and sociability which you will seek to create. It is for this very reason that I chose him, in fact. I would never assign one of the more difficult cases to a changeling setting out on the hunt for the first time, and certainly not to you, my dear niece.
You write of his friends and family at length, but the period of introduction is not the time to worry about them. To move too quickly will only raise suspicions, and though these suspicions can be used to great effect to create a rift between your prey and those most likely to save him, that is a path fraught with peril; there always is the risk that he may chose them over you. No, far better for now to remain demure and encourage them all to dismiss you as unremarkable and unobjectionable. That way, they will fail to see that you are the ultimate cause of his destruction, and so are less likely to attempt his rescue.
I am worried, however, by the proximity of his mother. She is unlikely to abandon him in any event, and to poison such a relationship as that of parent and child to the point where our ends may be accomplished is a formidable task. Tell me more about her in your next letter: describe to me her likes, her dislikes, her affectations, and her vices, no matter how benign. It is here that our work must begin, if we are ultimately to drive them apart.
Ah, child, I recall when our noble Queen first sent me out among the ponies, to feast and to bring back that damnable sop which is our sustenance. After a life of misery and starvation among the Hive, to be amongst so much love, so much friendship, and none of it mine! It was nauseating and exhilarating, all at once. But never did I lose sight of my purpose among the ponies, and neither must you. Remember: should you lose this stallion...
Well, I’ve no need to remind you of the consequences for those who return home without enough food to share.
Your affectionate aunt,
Maxilla
~two~
My dear Earwig,
I note with grave displeasure that your prey has taken work as a town guard. I hardly need tell you what an undesirable development this is; perhaps no other line of work more lends itself to that insufferable sense of camaraderie and togetherness which we seek to eliminate at the first convenience. If this stallion is to be made emotionally dependent on you, he must first have nowhere else to turn! The feeling of fraternity which exists among such organizations, from the royal guard in Canterlot down to the Sheriff and his deputies in those desert shantytowns to the south, has foiled more young changelings than mere social friendship ever has.
Perhaps it is not too late to convince him to abandon this employment. He is likely too young and cocksure to be much daunted by your emphasizing the weariness of his duties, and too convinced of his own invulnerability to be deterred by any possible risks which his position entails. Instead, attempt to convince him that you are too weak to bear his assignment. Fret at all hours when he is home, panic and cry over his every bump and scratch, and make him see that you have no peace while he is off and engaged in such dangerous work. Never mind that the odds of anything truly dangerous happening to a guard in that mountainside backwater are remote at best. All that matters is that he sees that you are fearful.
If you are lucky, he may be convinced to resign his position for your sake. This would be a great victory for you indeed, for he will then have created a powerful precedent, and one which you can use to your advantage. He will have shown himself willing to defer his own wants and even needs to save you pain, and thereafter you will be able to control him with the mere threat of tears. Ah, I once had a stallion so wrapped up in the idea that he must protect me from all concern that, if he would tell me he intended to spend a night playing cards with his friends, I had only to pout my lip, and he would rush off to unmake his arrangements. So noble he thought himself, caring for a poor, fragile mare like me! How quick are these ponies to mistake dependence for love, and how easily they are convinced that their warden is in fact their ward.
But I do not think that you will have such luck. You are new to him yet, and must not overplay your hoof, or he may decide that you are more trouble than you are worth. It has not even been a month since you entered his life, after all. Show him that you cannot bear his work, but do not make yourself unbearable in so doing. Should this tack fail, we shall need to find other means to isolate him.
Your affectionate aunt,
Maxilla
~three~
My dear Earwig,
I am most pleased by what you write concerning this stallion’s relations with his mother, but you must not content yourself to “leave well enough alone.” Instead, encourage a mutual antagonism between the two in all their interactions. With luck, you may soon reach the point where they cannot even carry on civilized discourse without you to act as mediator. And once you have made yourself the only conduit between mother and son, he is as good as yours.
Firstly, encourage them to create double standards in their own minds. Do they often express their gratitude to one another? No doubt they do not; stallions as a rule are not inclined to think that such things need be put into words, foolishly believing that their thanks is assumed, while his mother most likely still thinks him a young colt, and easily embarrassed by kind words. How slow are mothers to realize that their children have come to maturity!
Play on this. Go to the mother and tell her how wonderful are all the many little things she surely does for him. Then, when she is inflated with your praise, casually offer that you can’t see why he never speaks of his appreciation himself. Likewise, go to the son and tell him what a dutiful child he is to care so for the mare. Speak glowingly of how patient he is with her, even though she doesn’t seem at all grateful. His smile may falter a bit at this, but do not press the attack. Instead, carry on as though you did not notice, praising the myriad sacrifices he daily makes for her.
Pepper your conversations with such minuscule barbs, and you will soon see just how quick these ponies are to turn from harmony to chaos. One day, the mother will pass her son as he washes the dishes, and the grudge your words have planted in him will burst forth. “These are your dishes too,” he will snap. “The least you could do is say thank-you.”
But by now, the mare will be too wrapped up in her own perceived grievances to consider what a little thing this is to ask. Instead, she will take offense. How can he ask me for thanks, she will think to herself, when I am the one who fixes supper each night for the both of us? And she will respond with some jab of her own, and soon the two will be screaming at each other over nothing more significant than a basic household responsibility, two minutes’ work at the most.
And the best of it is that if you have done your job well, they will never see the hypocrisy of their own anger. The stallion, you would think, must realize that he cannot on one hoof demand to be thanked for every little favor he does, while simultaneously failing to acknowledge the like when directed at him, and likewise the mother. Yet keep them focused on their own sense of aggrievement, and they shall do precisely that! The best rows are the ones where both parties come away certain that they were sorely wronged, for it is here where we may most easily step into that gap and replace that love with bile, before time has his chance to heal those wounds with a sense of perspective. Bile, and reliance. Reliance upon us. Reliance upon you.
Your affectionate aunt,
Maxilla
~four~
My dear Earwig,
I can well understand the confusion and concern which you expressed in your last report. I often encountered similar occurrences when I was among the ponies, and for a long time was convinced that they were playing some deep game whose goal I could only guess at. No, what you have been subjected to is what they among themselves term “generosity.”
I’m certain the word itself is not unfamiliar to you? No, surely you must have learned the fundamental building blocks of friendship in school, and be at least academically familiar with them. Yet to encounter one “in the wild,” as it were, is always disturbing. For you see, it is a strange madness for which we cannot account.
So this mare, whom you have met through your stallion, has purchased you a set of saddlebags at her own expense and given them to you with the assurance that you need not recompense her. Naturally, you wonder what her angle is. Is she trying to put you in her debt, for some future purpose of hers? Does she intend to frame you for their theft? Is it possible that she’s had her eyes on your prey as well, and has had the bags cursed or poisoned somehow? No—as strange as it sounds, she really does intend for you to profit from her, for no comprehensible reason.
I understand that it is normal, upon realizing this, to attempt to extract a maximum profit from such a “generous” (the word even sounds unnatural!) pony, but I would advise you to remember your purpose. In the short term, you may find all your ends made easier by the presence of a cretin so eager to sacrifice her own interests for yours. But generosity is one of the most potent expressions of friendship, and you should think long and hard about what dangers she may pose to your long-term goals. In fact, I would suggest that you see about removing her from your prey’s social circle to the greatest extent possible, and as soon as can be reasonably accomplished. It should not be hard, if you play to her faults.
If you should discover that she and the stallion plan to spend any time together, make sure you have some “urgent” task handy, which you can ask her to undertake for you. When she has done some kind-hearted thing for him—brought him a present, perhaps—ask if you can give it to him yourself, so that you can “see how his eyes light up!” Then take full credit for the gift, of course. Soon, by playing on her willingness to appease you, you will have built up such a wall between the two that their interactions are reduced to nothing. And then, simple isolation will do the rest.
Oh, and one more thing: at least until that isolation has been well and truly established, do occasionally reciprocate the foolish mare’s gestures. If you are out together at noontime, buy her something small and inexpensive for her lunch, for example, or make her a gift of some old flowers which your stallion gave to you the other day. Don’t fear; you won’t be showing generosity. You’ll simply be making sure that she doesn’t realize the degree to which you are taking advantage of her. You’ll be maximizing the amount which you’ll be able to wring out of her, in the end.
That is a much more proper way to interact with one’s fellow creatures, I should think!
Your affectionate aunt,
Maxilla
~five~
My dear Earwig,
I am astounded by the ignorance you displayed in your last letter concerning the nature of friendship. Did you learn nothing from the training you received before setting out from the Hive? I always suspected that the quality of instruction had deteriorated since Phanaeus took over, but your mindless suggestions leave no doubt. You see your prey arguing passionately with his friends, and think that he does your work for you? No, you fool! What you see is not in your favor at all. Indeed, it is a grave threat to your enterprise, if left unchecked.
Focus less on the argument, and more on the speed with which it is forgotten and the laughter which soon follows, and you will see that what drives these ponies to confrontation is not malice, but honesty. Do you not know how dangerous honesty is to our ends? It is anathema to our very being, for honesty should compel us to shed our disguises, to forgo all manner of scheming and politicking, and to abandon this great society which we have built for ourselves. Do you imagine that I have risen to the position of Undersecretary of Sustenance Acquisition by dealing openly and honestly with my superiors? Do you imagine that I would ever consent to allow under me a changeling so dull of wit that she could not manipulate minds with skill and dexterity equal to her ability to manipulate her shape? Perish the thought that I should suffer such idiocy!
For that is all honesty is, in truth: the mark of a mind too feeble to conjure up a narrative more useful to oneself than the bare facts. It seems then that it is no great danger, yes? Yet honest discourse is one of the fundamental building blocks of friendship, and we must deny your stallion any interactions based on such explosive grounds.
So do not continue confusing arguments born of ill will with those born of honest disagreement, for the former we seek to incite while the latter we must at all cost discourage. The difference is easy enough to spot in any case: two ponies honestly and frankly airing a difference of opinion may speak passionately, even vehemently, but they still listen to what the other has to say. And should one perceive that the other’s logic is more sound than his own, he may even change his own mind, and be persuaded from opposition to agreement by reason alone! This never happens in the other type of argument; where there is bad blood, no force on earth can change a pony’s mind.
The best way to limit this dangerous sort of interaction is, strange though it seem, to do your utmost to prevent any arguing at all. When your prey’s friend has made his point, quickly interject yourself. Tell them “Oh my dears, I do wish we could simply agree not to discuss things which upset us so! Darling, won’t you let the matter drop?” And as if by magic, where once there was only spirited disagreement there are now hurt feelings! For simply by saying that they are upset, you shall drive them to think that they were indeed. Moreover, your prey will be smarting from the sense that he “lost” the argument, not because he was wrong, but on the technicality of a forfeit. Prevent these natural disagreements from resolving themselves long enough, and they will soon metamorphose from mere opinions and ideas into deeply held and jealously guarded beliefs. And then, when the reckoning does at last come, you can be certain that honesty will no longer be paramount. Both ponies will instead seek victory, and in so doing will harm both the truth and their friendship, often beyond repair.
Your affectionate aunt,
Maxilla
~six~
My dear Earwig,
You only think to mention to me now, and in passing no less, that your prey meets with his friends every Friday evening at the same restaurant to fraternize over dinner? Are you mad? This must be broken up at once! He and the ponies he associates with have become accustomed by long routine to these meet-ups, and if you do not stop them soon, you will surely find them impossible to uproot.
The ponies have a saying, you know: “familiarity breeds contempt.” But they do not mean “contempt” as we understand it; instead, they speak of a bond so deep that it is nearly subconscious. Sometimes, as you are now attempting with the stallion’s mother, long-standing assumptions can indeed be used to our benefit. But by and large, friendships are actually strengthened by familiarity.
We use this to our advantage, of course, when we feed; while we have not yet learned the secret to convincing a pony to “love” us, save by taking the guise of one with whom they are already in love, it is possible to convince the ponies that what they do feel toward us is love, when in fact it is but crippling dependency. We do this by taking advantage of complacency, and by convincing them that their over-reliance on us is the natural state of affairs, when in fact it is anathema to any social creature. I often wonder at how easy it is to convince these stallions that it is perfectly normal never to see another intelligent creature without one’s wife by one’s side, that there is nothing unusual about having no friends and no life which does not center around her, that that sense of dull resignation is indeed “love.” Perhaps they merely project what they wish were true, so that they need not face the realities of their situation. I neither know nor care, so long as it works.
Let us turn to your current situation. Obviously, you must see about breaking up this routine. One easy way to do so is to try introducing small changes, with the eventual goal of removing everything about these get-togethers that makes them more than simple socializing and elevates them to tradition. Try to get the group to move around to different restaurants every week, preferably ones which will be less than enjoyable. From that starting point, you may convince them that it isn’t really necessary to go out at all, and that a night spent at one of their homes would be just as good. Have them go to a concert, or on a picnic, or anything, so long as it is different.
At first, it will seem that you are strengthening them, for they’ll be excited to try something new. But once that novelty wears off, they’ll soon begin to wonder what they should do each week at the appointed time. If you’ve done your job well, they’ll never even consider simply returning to their old haunt; you’ll have implanted the idea that each get-together must involve something new, that simply enjoying each other’s company isn’t sufficient reason to gather. In time, they’ll run out of ideas, and the Friday meet-up will collapse as a tradition. It is true that they may sometimes get together on Fridays, but this is much less harmful to us, and more easily managed in any case.
Your affectionate aunt,
Maxilla
~seven~
My dear Earwig,
It is now clear to me that you were far too ill-prepared for this mission. You shall be lucky not to bungle it completely, despite how simple a thing it is to drive a pony into one’s arms. I have done it dozens of times myself, back when I was young and worked in the field, and not even as a wide-eyed neophyte did I ever blunder so abominably as you have.
So you are no longer in the fellow’s good graces. Why, precisely, does this surprise you so? You have done nothing but pester, badger, and generally harass that stallion from the moment he allowed you into his life. Is it any wonder, then, that he should spurn you? Can you possibly be so dense?
My dear, stupid little Earwig, you have attempted to reel in your line before the hook was even set, and so the fish has escaped. When you came to that town, you made yourself beautiful to behold, and in so doing drew him to you. What you should have done then was to ensure that his life was happy, and that that happiness was always in your presence. Better still if he were happy only in your presence, and miserable at all other times, for thus he would come to associate that state of joy with you and you alone. But the truly important thing at this juncture was to make sure that he associated pleasure and contentedness with the period following your entry into his life, and that must perforce mean making him happy. Once this was done, then you could have moved on fruitfully.
But instead you thought him yours too soon, and pushed too hard. Did you not remember that first bit of advice I gave to you? Do not make yourself unbearable. You have done precisely what I warned you against. And so, instead of being the only source of his happiness, you became in his eyes the primary impediment to it. Is it any wonder he no longer speaks lovingly of you?
Well. All is not yet lost. This is a setback, to be sure, but he is yet young and foolish. I trust you have been careful not to alienate all those around him at this early stage? Then you must try and get to him through them. Speak to them often of how foolish you were, and how you can see now what you have lost. Emphasize how unfair you were, and how you would do things differently. Rest assured, these words will get back to him. And if he can be convinced of your repentance, you may yet find yourself afforded a second chance to do this properly. Nothing plays so well with the male heart as the vanity of its own desirability, and his ego will compel him to forgive much if he thinks you will do anything to win him back.
Your affectionate aunt,
Maxilla
~eight~
My dear Earwig,
As I look over the latest letter which I’ve received from you, I see that you labor under the misconception that we must somehow make our prey fall in love with us in order to feast properly upon them. This seems a regrettably common misunderstanding, even among well-placed and educated changelings who really ought to know better. Allow me to set you straight.
What the ponies call “love” is, of course, an impossibility. Until recently, we believed that we understood what they meant; it was a simple matter of safety in numbers, that two ponies pushing in the same direction exert more force than one does alone. Yet in the wake of the Canterlot Incident, our Queen has ordered all of our best researchers to devote their efforts to learning more about this phenomenon, and they have come to some head-scratching conclusions.
The ponies, it seems, believe that “love” can somehow strengthen both parties, in mind and spirit, whether together or apart. That simply loving a pony, and being loved in return, is enough to overcome any obstacle, and that both are made stronger by this interaction.
The illogic of this is obvious, of course. Energy cannot travel two ways, any more than matter can. If I were to give you my inkwell and you were to give me yours, then it would be patently impossible for both of us to end up with more ink than we had previously. Yet the ponies would tell you that “love” works in precisely that manner, and even have entire schools of magic based upon that principle! Our researchers study this seeming impossibility night and day, but although success is expected hourly, no breakthroughs on this puzzling conundrum are forthcoming.
So no, my dear Earwig, do not seek to make him “love” you. Nothing good can come of that; you will only be building up his defenses by means we do not understand. Instead, you must make him dependent on you. In another letter I shall go into more detail on this point, but for now that is irrelevant to your purpose. You have integrated yourself into his circle of friends, and now he no longer seeks to avoid your presence entirely; this is good, but it is only the first step. Now, you must convince him of the depth of your repentance, and of your sincere longing. For the time being, this should be your only focus.
Your affectionate aunt,
Maxilla
~nine~
Earwig,
You can imagine my considerable surprise when my spies informed me that your stallion has begun seeing a young mare with whom he shares guard duties. How is it that this vitally important detail has failed to make it into your letters? Were you under the impression that your reports were my only source of information, and that I might be left in the dark if only you were to omit any mention of this turn of events? Believe me, Earwig, those reports are a mere formality. There is nothing you do which escapes my notice, and both this failure on your part to keep hold of your prey and your subsequent failure to notify me in proper course will be punished appropriately when you return to the Hive.
I have studied my agents’ reports on this mare, and she is precisely the sort whom we should wish at all costs to discourage the stallion from seeking, never mind in a romantic light. She is frank but kind, never shying away from the truth, and yet always able to find some nugget of good to make the harshest of realities palatable. She is universally considered to be pleasant company. And worst of all, there is her sense of humor. A mare who can laugh at herself is one who is unlikely to be provoked into the sort of spat most likely to end a budding relationship. Thankfully, such mares are quite uncommon these days, but it seems your prey has managed to find one.
From what I have seen, I think it very unlikely that you shall have much luck in driving them apart by targeting the mare, so you shall have to find a way to attack the stallion instead. I have several suggestions, but I shall not bother to enumerate them here. Since this whole matter wasn’t even worth bringing to my attention, clearly you have the matter well in hoof already. I look forward to hearing how you were able to resolve matters without my aid at your earliest convenience.
Your increasingly exasperated aunt,
Maxilla
~ten~
Earwig,
I hope you will forgive me if my writing is somewhat shakier than usual; your most recent letter has me in a state of apoplexy, such that I can barely hold my quill steady between my teeth.
“They are only friends!” you say. “They have not once lain together! I assure you there is no romance between them,” you say. And I answer you: fool! Do you truly believe that love is nothing more than physical congress? If it were, from what should we take our sustenance? They may be “only” friends at the moment, but if they should become emotionally intimate, then that is a thousand times worse for us than if they should merely roll in the hay. And in any case, friendship can be every bit as dangerous to us as love. He cannot be made totally dependent upon and subservient to you while still he has friends who will stand by his side through thick and thin. That is precisely the sort of thing you should be discouraging, and yet I find that his social circle has only widened since you came into the picture.
But then, then... ah, THEN you say to me, “But even if they were romantic, what of it? You’ve told me yourself that love is a myth.” Oh Earwig, when I read that line I was reduced to paroxysms of laughter, to think that such a fool as you has been allowed out of the Hive. Your mother should have smothered you in your cradle and spared us all your idiocy, and that fat fool of an instructor, Phanaeus, ought to be tossed to the Sirens for allowing such rank incompetence among those he was supposed to vet and instruct. A myth, did I say? Oh, dear, stupid Earwig.
If love is a myth, then tell me this: how is it that our Queen and the entire Royal Army were defeated at Canterlot? What power was it that cast every single one of them all the way back to the Hive, utterly vanquished? Conversely, by what might did you think it was that our Queen single-hoofedly cast down the very Princess of the Sun, whom even Discord himself is said to have feared? You would do well not to question the power of love, for it is manifest.
No, what I said to you is that love is an impossibility, as indeed it is. It defies all our understanding. On one hoof, it has the power to build and destroy empires, yet on the other it is so wholly insubstantial that it can barely be spoken of factually. Despite the vast resources which our Queen has poured into research in this field, despite the massive rewards offered our scientists and philosophers for advances, and despite the ever more fearsome punishments for setbacks, we are still no closer to understanding love than we were when I was in the field myself.
But lest you doubt the power of love, remember this: it was by the power of love that our very race came to be. The changelings were once numbered among the races of ponykind, and our Queen was once counted among those immortal princesses who rule them to this day. But long ago, a terrible famine blighted our lands, and our Queen saw that her people were starving. So deep was her love for her subjects that she turned to forbidden magics, seeking a spell which would let her love be our sustenance. The rest of that history is immaterial, but to this day it is she that sustains our race: the changelings in the field draw that mysterious energy from their prey, then bring it to the Queen, who divides it out among us. For generations unnumbered, we have survived thus.
That is the power of love. The power to sustain our entire race, and the power by which our very species was born. So do not speak flippantly to me of its mythological stature. Instead, focus on making sure that nothing so powerful should ever stand between you and that stallion!
Maxilla
~eleven~
My dear Earwig,
I have indeed thought very hard about the question you asked in your last letter. Of course the account I gave of our race’s origins is totally without basis; I merely intended to quote a heretical bit of folklore, and to show by it the alleged power of love. I did not mean to suggest for one moment that the changelings or our luminous Queen are anything other than the original inheritors of Equestria. I trust you now see that any treasonous sentiments which it might be possible to read into my correspondence were purely unintentional, and certainly not worth sending along to the relevant authorities. By the way, I hope you understood, too, that some apparently uncomplimentary references to Phanaeus in my previous letters were purely jocular. I really do have the highest respect for him. Still, I think it would be best if you did not show those letters to anyone, lest they misunderstand. Meanwhile, you can trust me to look after your interests, and to offer any advice and support I can in your assignment.
But do keep everything under lock and key.
Your affectionate aunt,
Maxilla
~twelve~
My dear Earwig,
While I understand why you would ask about introducing the fear of changelings to the town as a potential path toward isolating your target, the present circumstances dictate against it. While the resulting paranoia can drive ponies apart through fear and distrust (I myself used that precise tactic more than once, back in my day), it can also drive them together, and I think that the more likely course in your case. Since the stallion is a member of the town guard, anything which increases the danger posed to the town is likely to end up being to our disadvantage; it will simply drive him closer to those ponies with whom he works. And especially to that mare—we would not wish to do anything which will encourage them to think they must trust each other in the face of some outside menace now, should we?
In any case, the question is academic. Ever since the (minor, temporary) setback at Canterlot, our glorious Queen has quite emphatically declared that we are to maintain the lowest possible profile among ponykind while we seek to understand the precise nature of what happened there. Introducing the specter of further changeling attacks to the town would be contrary to that purpose, and so there’s really nothing more to be said on that matter.
As to the larger idea? Remember that fear is only useful to us against ponies who will run away from danger, rather than toward it. When seducing a coward, a healthy amount of fear will work wonders. But for ponies made of sterner stuff, the opposite approach is often more fruitful. I suggest you do what you can to make sure that his work and, to the greatest extent possible, his life, are as dull as possible. A stallion overcome with boredom is one whose eye is more likely to wander in any case, and if you’ve been keeping up appearances, then there’s little doubt where first his eye will roam.
Your affectionate aunt,
Maxilla
~thirteen~
My dear Earwig,
I will not bother to hide my surprise at the audacity of what you’ve done, but your results speak for themselves. You’ve pulled a great coup, and perhaps this will finally turn what has become an increasingly troublesome case in our favor.
I would never suggest taking the form of another pony to a changeling working in the field for her first time; even for experienced collectors, the danger of discovery is simply too great. Physical appearance is one thing, but to match posture, voice, language, tone, and that ineffable otherness so precisely that it fools even colleagues and family? That is a formidable task. Yet you’ve managed to take the form of your stallion and play his role so convincingly that you were able to meet with his superior, rearrange his work schedule, and then cover your tracks well enough that he hasn’t even questioned the alteration of his hours!
I’m glad to see that you’re finally taking my advice to heart. Putting him on the pre-dawn shift will not only ensure that his work is as boring as can be (consider yourself lucky you weren’t assigned to a larger town; the presence of any sort of “nightlife” would have done in that advantage), but you further isolate him from his friends to boot! Now his schedule will demand that he sleep through the day, limiting opportunities for contact with them more effectively than any other change. With a little luck, and a great deal of effort on your part—don’t think this will be easy, simply because you’ve done one thing right—you should be able to cut his social interactions to a fraction of what they recently were.
Of course, you must make sure that you are available to call whenever he is alone and bored. Don’t push too hard—you doubtless remember what happened last time you tried to rush things—but ensure that you are always free whenever his loneliness starts to take hold. Be the “friend” who’s always there for him, and soon he’ll forget all about that mare of his and return to you.
And once he does, there will be no freeing him from your clutches.
Your affectionate aunt,
Maxilla
~fourteen~
My dear Earwig,
I am endlessly pleased by the news that your stallion and his mother are no longer on speaking terms. Separating prey from its family is always vital to creating a sense of isolation, and now you must work to ensure that they do not reconcile too quickly.
Of course, they will probably make up, eventually. Few long-standing relationships are truly so fragile that they can be wholly brought down by a single spat. But if you can keep the two separated long enough, then the natural banter which they share, the ineffable comfort which they can take in each other’s presence, will atrophy and die like a plant too long denied sunlight. If you can keep them from seeing or speaking to each other cordially for even a single month, there is an excellent chance that when they do resolve their petty quarrel, they’ll no longer share the natural, unconscious comfort which they once did. Time spent together will be filled not with companionable quiet, but awkward silence. Not with jokes laughed at precisely because they’re so terrible, but with forced attempts to break the unspoken ice through humor. Not with relaxation, but with tension.
From there, of course, it is a simple matter of never letting them re-establish their connection. Keeping them from seeing one another too much is a good start (indeed, regular visits will be the greatest hazard to their continued discomfort in one another’s presence), but it is not sufficient by itself. Surely, even in your brief time among the ponies, you have already seen how love can endure and even grow despite distance? I myself have watched as an elderly mare disembarked from her train, only to be swarmed by foals and grandfoals whom she had not seen in more than a decade. Some of the younger ones she’d never once met in the flesh! And yet, if only you could have seen the joy radiating from them... I tell you, Earwig, the love they shared was palpable; the very air vibrated with the emotion of their reunion. It was without a doubt the most ostentatiously disgusting display of love I had ever seen.
So how do you prevent this? You must work to ensure that your stallion’s mind is always turned to those little faults of his mother’s. Does she crack her hooves while reading? Does she snort when she laughs? Does she whistle slightly when she speaks a word beginning with a “W?” Doubtless she has dozens of such minor tics, and you should make sure to bring these to your stallion’s attention. Do so in a pleasant, jocular way, of course: when you visit him one night, mention that you saw her in the garden, and laugh affectionately over one or two of these minor annoyances.
The goal is to plant in his mind these traits, and to have him associate them with his mother rather than more positive ideas. Above all else, he must be distracted from the way she holds him just a little tighter before she releases her hug when they reconcile, or the endearing manner in which she swivels her ears to him when he talks, as if to say that there is no more important thing to her than what he has to tell her, or the comforting fact that she is so attuned to his habits that she will set a pot of tea for him without even being asked. If you do your job well, then when the two meet again, the myriad tiny flaws which you've brought to his attention will so drive the stallion to distraction that he will be completely unable to think of anything else. And as long as his attention is thus diverted, how can he possibly be expected to remember how great his debt is to the snorting, hoof-cracking, lisping mare who sits before him?
Your affectionate aunt,
Maxilla
~fifteen~
My dear Earwig,
You are right to be fearful; your foolishness has very nearly cost you any hope of reconciliation with the stallion. However, I believe you are safe for the moment.
While I know just how easy it is to slip into old habits while out in the field, it is vital to remember that ponies are not like us, and their legal code is built on a completely different foundation. Were you apprehended while stealing from someone back in the Hive, you would rightly expect to be punished for the lack of skill you displayed by being caught. And once you had been made to suffer appropriately, that would be the end of it, would it not? Yet among the ponies, it is the act of stealing itself which the law seeks to discourage; they don’t oppose incompetence, but rather disavow entire fields of endeavor upon “moral grounds.” The crucial difference is this: if one is caught breaking the law among the ponies, even once, it can be very difficult to regain the good graces of the townsfolk. And since your target is a member of the guard, such a thing should be doubly disastrous to you.
And yet, you have been spared this time. The shopkeeper no doubt did see you, and had he shouted for help, your situation might have become dire. Yet he refrained, presumably because he knew of your “close friendship” with the stallion and was aware of what how painful it would be for him to have to apprehend you. This the ponies call “kindness.”
Like so many of the fundamental building blocks of friendship, kindness is alien to us. The only such trait we really understand is laughter, but even here many of the nuances elude us; to mock the suffering of others is natural enough, but what of the laughter shared between two friends as they greet one another after a long separation? What of laughter stemming from oft-repeated jokes, whose humor has long since been sapped away through constant reiteration? What purpose does laughter serve then? What does it mean?
But to return to the matter at hoof. The shopkeeper has shown both you and your stallion kindness by willfully and deliberately allowing you to rob him without consequence, and while it may seem unfathomable, this is considered a virtue among the ponies. In reality, “kindness” is nothing more than the act of wilfully placing another’s wants or needs above one’s own, and the merchant chose to place your happiness above his own necessity—this time.
Still, if I were you, I would not press my luck. Kindness, when unrewarded, can quickly metamorphose into ill will, and while it is unlikely that the ire of a single merchant will do you much harm, it is best to avoid antagonizing any of the townsponies—it wouldn’t do for your stallion to hear anything uncomplimentary about you, at least not until he is well and truly under your hoof. I suggest that you go to the shopkeeper tomorrow and offer to pay him for what you took. While doing so, spin some lie about a sick grandmother in another town whom you must care for, or tell him that you grew up an orphan and used to have to steal to survive. Any such claptrap will do, so long as it sounds suitably maudlin. Lay your story on thick enough, and the shopkeep may even refuse to accept your payment for the pilfered goods!
I never cease to be amazed by the displays of idiocy to which ponies can be driven, all in the name of something as transitory and useless as friendship.
Your affectionate aunt,
Maxilla
~sixteen~
My dear Earwig,
I have given some consideration to the question you posed in your last letter about inducing infidelity in your stallion. It goes without saying that if you can convince him to bed you, then the battle is over; his “marefriend” (how I loathe the very terminology they use!), for all the many qualities she possesses which are frustrating to us, is assuredly not the sort to tolerate such a betrayal. Yet I do not think that there is much to be gained by attempting this. While it is true that your prey is young and male, and thus prone to such ill-considered adventures, he has demonstrated great resilience to your more physical overtures in the past. He may have an eye for beauty, but he apparently also possesses enough of a brain to override any attacks based primarily on lust.
Luckily for you, such is not the best way to destroy a relationship in any event. Cheating upon one’s partner physically may be destructive (especially in cases, as this would appear to be, where the couple have yet to achieve physical congress themselves), but cheating upon one’s partner emotionally is truly damning.
What you must do is ensure that your stallion feels he can speak freely to you, and only to you, while around the mare he must always guard his tongue, and be something other than himself. Conveniently for you, he is likely already engaged in the second part; couples still in their infancy, as they undoubtedly are after a mere few score days together, often try to maintain a facade around one another, hoping to project that they are better, nobler, or simply less petty, childish, and otherwise normal than they really are. Such a state is almost always short-lived, however; ponies are not changelings, and they have no talent as a race for disguising their true selves for any length of time. Thus, you must act quickly to prevent such a collapse into unguarded interactions between the two.
You have one great advantage here: the mare is much “better,” as the ponies measure such things, than the stallion. He is the usual mixed bag of flaws and faults: brave, stubborn, serious, stoic, risible, and a hundred other adjectives, both positive and negative. She, on the other hoof, is practically the definition of the inscrutable pony which you studied in your classes: noble, kind-hearted, mirthful, sweet, and otherwise sickeningly alien. Although this makes her incredibly dangerous to our aims, we can attempt to turn those so-called strengths against her yet.
When you speak to the stallion, do your best to build her up to an unattainable ideal in his eyes. Speak so glowingly of her (or better yet, allow him to do so) that he can hardly imagine what luck has led her to him. If ever he tries to find fault in her, even in jest, react with shocked disagreement. Paint her so pristinely that no mortal could ever hope to attain her lofty status.
If you do your job well, this will cripple your prey’s ability to be himself in her presence. His every moment by her side will be weighted by the knowledge that he is distressingly pedestrian compared to her, and he will walk as if on eggshells whenever she is near. Do your job well, and her presence will become his greatest source of stress rather than a release—and to relieve that stress, he’ll have nowhere to turn but to you. And even if no flicker of romance passes between you—and although it is possible, I doubt it will—he’ll then be firmly in your clutches.
Your affectionate aunt,
Maxilla
~seventeen~
My dear Earwig,
I do not know whether to be more taken with your audacity or your naivety. Did you really think for one moment that a changeling of my stature has no leverage among the secret police, to whom you so trustingly sent some of my more unguarded letters? Rest assured, a few debts were called in, and the whole matter has been tidied up. This really is rank incompetence on your part, you know; so long as you had those letters, you had something to hang over my head, and while the risk of your managing to actually raise a fuss with them was always minuscule at best, it was something. But now you’ve played your hoof, and the bluff has been shown. For shame, my dear niece! Did you never learn that blackmail loses all effectiveness as soon as it is exposed?
I will admit, however, that there is some virtue in your brazen willingness to sell out your own aunt in the hopes of surviving this assignment. If your intelligence were even a fraction of your boldness, you would be truly dangerous. Unfortunately for you, there can be no doubt at this point that you are well and truly moronic.
There are advantages to being a brave idiot, though. Specifically, brave idiots are easy to control, and on the off chance that you somehow manage to bring this fiasco to a successful close, I can see a number of ways in which you could remain useful to me. So I will overlook this attack upon me... for the moment. And if you should fail in your assignment? Be assured that I have taken steps to ensure that none of the blame shall be attached to me. Should you let your stallion slip through your hooves, there will be no reprieve for you.
And the risk of his eluding you is great, as your willingness to employ such a desperate gambit demonstrates. And all because of that damnable mare! Even with the many mistakes you’ve made so far in this case, you would still be well off were it not for her!
I will continue to consider her case, though I tell you frankly that there’s little hope for you now. The bond between them is strong, and to break it will be difficult. Despite my advice, you’ve failed to prevent them from growing comfortable in each other’s presence, and at this point only something truly dramatic is likely to destroy their bond. Now that they are at ease with one another, your recent efforts to set the mare on a pedestal will only make your present task more difficult, for he will adore her frankly and without reservation. Adoration of another pony is only useful to us so long as it is done self consciously and obsessively; unabashed and selfless admiration are but a hair’s breadth from love, true love, and with it the defeat of our aims.
Although your little stunt was foolish beyond belief, you were right about this: the time has indeed come for desperate measures.
Your affectionate aunt,
Maxilla
~eighteen~
My dear, my very dear, Earwig, my poppet, my sweet,
As always, I can only admire your boldness, and here it is not even tempered by distress over every other facet of your existence, for I soon shall have my feast.
Tell me, how exactly did you convince the manticore to attack the town at all? Never mind—it is of no consequence. You saw an opportunity to put the guard in peril and you took it, hoping against hope that the mare, on patrol with a single partner, would fall victim to its attack and leave your claim upon the stallion uncontested.
Were you watching, as my spies were, when the stallion rose from bed to the sound of alarms, calling all the guards to the west end of town to fend off the beast? Were you watching as he dashed toward the commotion, not even pausing to don his armour? Were you watching when he came upon the enraged creature, its rampage blocked only by a pair of guards, the mare one of them? Were you watching as it feinted with a paw, catching the mare off-balance, and then drove its poisoned tail toward her unprotected breast?
Tell me, my dear, dear Earwig, were you watching as the stallion hurled himself at the beast with no regard for his own safety? As he drove forward against the creature, heedless of self-preservation? Were you watching during those crucial seconds when the manticore was too stunned by the sheer audacity of this challenge to finish off the mare, those crucial few seconds needed for the rest of the guard to arrive?
And tell me this: were you watching when the beast batted him away like a rag doll, and the mare rushed to his side with a cry? Were you watching as she, while the other guards drove the manticore back from the town, knelt by his side and wept? Were you watching as she cradled his head in her hooves, and whispered her love for him? Were you watching as she kissed his lips and prayed that his eyes would open once more?
Were you watching as his eyes opened?
If you were watching, then you know already that you have failed. True love, unreserved and unabashed, is a rare thing, and in that moment, any hope you may have had of driving them apart was forever lost. For she looked down and saw that her love still lived, and knew in that moment that nothing else was more important to her. And he looked up and saw an angel, radiant and bright, and knew that had his boldness cost him his life, it would have been a small price to pay that such grace should not pass from the world. If they live to be a hundred, no force in Equestria will ever separate those two.
And as for you? Perhaps you have already fled, and this letter shall never find you. But I do not think that likely, and in any event there can be no doubt that you’ll return before long. The bonds of dependency run deep; just as you tried and failed to bring the stallion into your thrall, so our glorious Queen rules over us so securely that not even the dream of escape can be long maintained. And if you do not realize it yet, you will soon enough; you have no choice but to return to her. In the end, you are as cripplingly addicted to her as your stallion should have been to you. You shall return, despite your own interests, because our luminous Queen wills it; such is the nature of dependency.
And when you do return? Well, we both know what becomes of changelings who return from the field without bringing enough sustenance to sustain the Hive. Our exalted Queen shall drain you of that very dependence which drove you back to her in the first place. If you cannot provide love by proxy, then your love for her will suffice.
There will be nothing left of you but a withered husk once she has drained you of your love. No matter—there will be others. And in the meantime, I have a meal to anticipate. Ah Earwig, you shall be of some use to me, in the end. What higher purpose could a miserable worm like you hope to achieve than to be a feast for beings greater than yourself? Thus do I most truly sign myself
Your increasingly and ravenously affectionate aunt,
Maxilla
