Chrysalis

by Horsetorian

Chapter 5- Shadows

Mother always told us she had found us, not created us. Through some great fortune on our part, she had stumbled upon us, and even stranger, pitied us.

We cannot recall what we were then. For centuries, we have been what she made of us, housed in shadows.

With a name, she gave us an identity, one we passed down and shared among our entire host. We whisper what we are amongst ourselves, that we may never lose hold of this gift. It belongs to all, but none in particular. We all take pride in it as our own, and treat it as such.

With orders, she gave us a purpose to fulfill, a duty to give our lives meaning. We flew around her, guarded her against physical harm, merged with her magic to help her accomplish her ends. She moved the moon, but we moved the entire starry sky to please her.

With her love, she gave us the greatest gift we ever knew. Through it we knew what we were, what we were for, and where we belonged. Her care for us never faltered. Occasionally we angered her, but her irritation could not stop her love. Her continued care made it all the harder to cope with her anger. To know we had offended our greatest benefactor pained us deeply. Harsh words silenced us for as long as we could recall them, or until she ordered us to forget our guilt.

Her kind words were priceless to us. We cherished each good thing she said to us and whispered each phrase that left her mouth across miles, that all her servants might be able to hear. Each thing she said to us was precious, shameful to be wasted.

We had a place in her love, yet she lacked a place among her own.

Certainly, she was useful to them. More than they realized, mother cared for them, with stars to guide sailors and moonlight for those lost in darkness. Few thanked her, or even acknowledged her presence.

We knew what she did. We wished to thank her, to never cease admiring her, yet were unsure of how to make our gratitude known. We could not express our feelings beyond the most pitiful of fractions. We worked all the harder to serve her, but this could never be enough. We hissed her greatness, uttering her own words mixed with our esteem for her.

Yet, for our leviathan effort, she seemed all the more lonely. We roared her greatness, made her deaf to the ignorance and apathy of the others, yet she only seemed more saddened by her distance from them.

Thus, we decided to draw nearer to her, and hoped that she would benefit from our love a fraction as much as we had from hers.

There were two like her.

The first avoided our mother, and we avoided her. Her very aura made it nearly impossible to abide her presence, while our very existence seemed to unsettle her.

The second we viewed with a tinge of envy and great respect. She had the audacity to treat our mother as her equal, to pretend she was worth her notice. At first, this insolence enraged us, and we chattered our vehemence whenever she was near. One day, weary of our bitter muttering, mother silenced us.

Shocked, we ceased. Never before had mother been so harsh, so forceful. Our hisses ended. Instead, we listened and watched.

We could not believe it. For all our efforts to love her, for our thousand kind words and perpetual attention, we succeeded in little more than making our mother feel all the more alone. The adoration of a hundred of us meant little compared to what the affection of an insolent filly could accomplish. We almost loathed this foal, our bitterness would have pushed us to madness, were it not for the love mother returned to this one.

For mother’s affection for this puny individual equalled, perhaps even exceeded her love for us, her subjects, her children. We could not despise what our master so clearly cherished. To do so would be the foulest of blasphemy.

What made us different from her? The foal’s love for our master paled compared to what we thousand could offer. The foal did nothing to serve her, never helped her move or control the people, let alone move the stars for our master. All she seemed to do for our master was speak with her. Mere conversation seemed to draw the two together closer than lifetimes of servitude drew us to our mother. We began to despair in our pitiful irrelevance.

In our midst, a single voice spoke. It was drowned out by the surrounding symphony of murmurs. Of the handful who heard it, most forgot what it had said in a matter of moments.

Most individuals bold enough to voice themselves were drowned in the tumult and swept away with a new tide of sounds. Most statements meant little to anyone but the single consciousness that had voiced it.

Yet by some great oddity, this one was repeated. A single voice echoed what it had said, and the lifetime of that thought was doubled. The original speaker, thrilled, mouthed its mind anew, as though it had never before felt the words it had spoken an instant ago. A third speaker, originally an uninterested bystander, heard the thoughts third speaking and realized its significance, its uniqueness, its value. In part, the third repeated the words to preserve them for its fellows. Moreover, this third spoke to experience the emotion he had hearing it once more. A fourth and fifth spoke at once, a fortunate sort of accident that made the phrase a little more audible. Four spoke it quite clearly, yet each altered the words, even the very emotion, ever so slightly. Branching from this handful, the whole of the collective came to contemplate this new voice among them. Many who repeated the fragment failed to understand what it meant themselves, yet chose to experience and pass on what they were sure was vital information. Eventually, the sheer volume of the thought became its driving force, until all had heard it. In essence, it spoke two words.

“Ask her.”

A pondering silence abruptly followed the avalanche of noise. Ask who? A brief discussion was held. It was felt that the speaker must have meant our mother’s close confidant, though none could say why for sure. Ask them what? We almost lost track of this answer, save for the one voice that spoke in silence to remind us of our remorse. The original speaker must have wished to ask the child how to end our sadness. How could she end our misery? More murmurs followed, but it was decided; she could tell us why mother loved her more, and what we needed to do to be loved.

We flocked to her, begging her to pity us as our mother had, to teach us and help us escape despair. She barely glanced at us. We shouted for her forgiveness and understanding, yet in her arrogance she pretended not to hear us. Our rage was kindled, and we were on the verge of striking when mother noticed our excitement.

Her acknowledgement calmed us and she chastised us fiercely. Ordinarily, her rage would have silenced us for days, even weeks. Most were willing to suppress their desire, but one voice was overcome by despair.

“Please! Let us speak with her!”

Mother faltered. Rarely did we speak to her in her anger. Even stranger, an individual had spoken to her this time. Mother didn’t even seem to be aware that we were composed of individuals.

Confusion overpowered her anger, pity bested her willpower. Soon, she promised, she would arrange a meeting. She informed us that the other could barely see or hear us, let alone comprehend our pleading. Nevertheless, in her endless kindness, Mother promised to find a way for us to speak, tenderly calming our fears as we often saw beings of flesh comfort their own.

Comments

[Horsetorian]

2582635 still going to use it? um. how do you mean? i can put stories on here. i can read stories (which judge as you will, and perhaps as odd as this may be, i dont think ive read that many fanfics, and even fewer cover to cover). so odds are neither of those will happen so much (though its possible ill stumble on/read another story on here someday.) unless there are other ways of using this that i dont know of and would interest me. care to enlighten? forgive me if commenty rants are irritating. thanks.

[blix1ms0ns]

2583767 Don't worry. It only becomes dangerous when hasbro decide to care. Keep on writing. there is too many of us to litigate. Also when you start writing other fiction, PM (private message) me because I would love to read your work!
Just click on the mail icon to do that.

[Ahuizotl]

2583767 I think all fanfictions lightly breach copyright, but the terms of copyright defined by companies are way stricter than they'd likely care to enforce. By that, I mean, even if a large company said their intellectual property couldn't be used for any purposes whatsoever, if you managed to ask the boss/lagel team of that company in person, they'd probably be okay with it. It's more of a deterrance really.
I can't remember the source, but I read that the average person breaches copyright law about 20 times a day. Even humming a tune to a song you like can constitute as "unauthorised reproduction of copyright material", but obviously no-one would do anything about that.

[Inkblot]

please post what remains even if it is just a summery. this story has such a unique view on all the characters and i would love to see how it ends.