By Drynwhyl
A thin patina of sweat lay snail-slicked upon Chrysalis' chitinous brow, and under the imperious gaze of the plummeting sun it shimmered a dozen different colours and matted her mane like strips torn from a well-worn rug. Her features were twisted by both drive and exertion; her muzzle curled up in a menacing sort of half snarl, half frown which sat far too comfortably upon her countenance, as if she'd worn it many times before, perhaps more often than not.
She lifted a hoof, tried to push onwards. But the magic held her back and she could go no further. At length she pulled against it, hunched her body like so and flicked her hoof like that, but she could eke out little more than an inch or two before the line drew taut and she stood there, frozen, trembling, leaning into a non-existent gale and her muscles corded and screaming.
Finally, she collapsed to the ground, grass tickling her belly. Her hooves went to her horn once, grazing the mechanism upon it, but only briefly; seconds out of hours.
The sun fell. The world pulled night over itself like a blanket of stars and galaxies and mysteries uncountable. Purple hooves soon roused her from her stupor, arriving in a ragged, breathless gallop.
"I found you some flowers," Chrysalis said simply, though she didn't really want them anymore.
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Ouch, poor Chrysalis.
I'm not quite sure what happened here.
4978308 She's basically forced to remain within Ponyville by the magical device on her horn and the enchantments attached to it placed by Celestia. She saw something pretty, wanted it for her only friend, tried her hardest to get it, couldn't: it was juuust outside the boundary. Then she sat there, thinking about how fucked her life had become.
4978596 thanks for clearing that up. It makes much more sense now
4978756 Yeah, no worries. I'm sorry it was so sparse on details that it wasn't exactly clear what was going on. I just wanted to see how much I could cram into less than 250 words for that particular prompt and liked what I came up with because (at least I find) it has a vague, impersonal kind of sadness about it.
4980888 Aw, thank you.
4981118 Just wait until we reach the prompt Tongue.