One Page Ponies

A bird flew overhead. It flexed its feet to work loose a pebble stuck between its toes. Down the pebble fell, until it bounced off Chrysalis' muzzle with a quiet click.

It did not crack her stone; it did not even chip it. But it left a little mark that someday might become a crack.

A crack would be enough.

Chrysalis was not patient, but she was Old. She had waited before, and waited now with hate as her stone slowly wore.

It would be a long time yet before those other fools had any hope of slipping out. But all she needed was a mere crack. A cockroach could scuttle through a crack, and she was so much more glorious than that, wasn't she? She waited.