//------------------------------// // Chapter 3 // Story: To Change a Life // by Amaranthine Thought //------------------------------// I wake, feeling enclosed, warm. I see another minotaur tending to me, smearing a substance upon my broken form. It is warm. Comforting in a sense. But having her grip my broken legs is worrying; she could snap them like twigs. “Awake?” she asks, not looking. I know this one. Emmy, wasn't it? Falls’ mate. “You’re doing better at least.” she says, her voice and tone having an edge to them. It doesn’t matter much; I can feel the shallowness of her anger, and a far deeper tolerance. I am not truly sure what I feel about that. My self is unsure, uncertain. What I once considered absolute suddenly cast in doubt. No. Not doubt. I have to change. Make this permanent, seize the chance and pull myself away from what I once was. For my lost children. “...Anything to say?” she asks, still not looking at me, continuing to work. I can do this. Kind. Something kind. “… I feel fine.” …Not bad, keep it up. She huffs faintly, and begins to bandage me again. “Good. You know… ‘cattle’ isn’t a really nice thing to call someone.” “I know that.” I tell her. “Stupid cow.” I add. I can feel her snap a little, not in anger, but in a kind of despair. A gentle one, one I can use to my advantage. Just a little… … I’m an idiot. Emmy retreats rather swiftly. For obvious reasons. Leaving me only partly bandaged as well. Stupid c, stop it. I need help. I need to get myself out of this, I need to stop this, I need to gain the advantage. Use it, their emotions, so easily twisted. They won’t kill me. Use that, and… and… … The pain is nothing I can’t endure. Not thinking such thoughts is nigh impossible. Even now, I can feel the emotions beyond, and see the ways to take advantage, words marshaling without my calling them. Or maybe I am. Plots and suspicions and… …Is that hate? It is. Not toward me either. There and gone in a moment, but it was there; I know hate too well for that to hide from me. Strong and burning. What was that? Too fast for me to truly tell, and well hidden. Possibly even from the holder. Waterfalls enters again, and he does not harbor any. Disappointed, but mostly enduring. He knows I will be hard to handle. But what was that hate? He sighs as he kneels next to me, finishing my wrapping with surprising gentleness. “Never did get your name. If you have one.” “Chrysalis.” I tell him. I almost add queen before I stop myself. And now I’m sad. Great. No, that is good; easier to pay attention. Look at where pride has gotten me; break it now. I’m nothing. He sees me moping, and gains a note of sympathy. Not helpful. Sympathy is really, really easy to twist. Like a giant lever for me to pull and tug on to make him act how I want him to. “…I heard a pony call a butterfly cocoon that, once.” he tells me. Do they? “Kinda fitting, I think.” “How?” I ask, grabbing hold of curiosity. Trying to avoid any thought of planning or plotting. “Little bugs become butterflies. They change, a lot. Like yer goin ta.” I snort before recalling that I want to. He chuckles at that. “Bet you don’t even know how ta apologize.” “Of course I do.” “Really?” “It’s…” … I don’t. I only know the fake feeling, the face, the emotions. Not the words. Nothing to make him, unable to hear my thoughts, understand. It’s a cutting realization, and one that makes the old me silence for now. “You don’t, do you?” “…No.” I say, wincing. Even now, I hold some pride it seems. It hurts to admit that. But why am I prideful anyway? A broken queen, nothing but a failure to herself, her hive, her duty, and her children. “It’s real simple.” “Just tell me.” “Really simple. It’s jus th one word.” I groan. Maybe Falls is a little more perceptive than I thought, and is tormenting me purposefully, trying to break the old me. That or it’s minor revenge for calling his mate derogatory names. Or both. I can’t tell. “Everyone I can think of knows it.” Revenge. “But let’s step through th whole thin, jus in case.” Definitely revenge. “When ya do something wrong, it’s ‘sorry’.” he says. O.K. Fine. Simple. “An when ya want something, you say ‘please’ before an after ya ask. An if ya get it, its ‘thanks’. Ponies call em ‘magic words’, but I heard magic words an no unicorn is shoutin ‘please an thank ya!’ every time they do something sparkly.” I don’t know if I should be entertained or mildly upset with him for that. Foals know please and thank… … I didn’t know them either, did I? “Ya do seem ta be healin at least.” he muttered, finishing the wrappings. “Hungry?” “No.” I say, before wondering. I’m not hungry. The ravages of hunger are gone, or almost gone anyway. It is as if I feed on love, yet, there is no love here, at least not now. Has something changed? More so than normal? Maybe… I look inward, and expand my mind. The first thing I notice is the emptiness, the lack of minds around me, near me. I try to ignore that. I see what it is a moment later. Love. Not much love, love cut with sorrow, but it’s love. From me. I’m producing love. I’m somehow feeding myself… no. It’s love for my children. Given no place to go, it comes back to me, and I subsist upon it… I will not starve, not so long as I love them, even when they are dead. I… I don’t know what to think as I focus on my physical surroundings again. I would have said impossible, and yet, it is true… I have changed. The though silences most of me. I can use this. I can change. I can live on. I can remake myself into the queen my children deserve. Falls has left. I wasn't paying attention, but now, I have some peace to try what I intend. If I can produce love, then I have changed. If I have changed like that, I can change in even greater ways. I focus, and try. Giving my all to heal, to recover. Focusing on what I want to be, and directing the love toward those goals. I feel slightly better. And like that, the love is gone. And I’m hungry again. I don’t understand. It was there, I was using it, I was surviving upon it, and the moment I try something, it’s gone. Why? I was being careful. It was there before without reason, so why not be there now? Aggravating. It… …I wonder… …Ah. I see. I only produce love when I think of my children. When I try to use it, I think of other things, and thus, no longer think of them. That’s why it is cut with sadness. It’s my sadness. My love for them. I can’t use it so selfishly. It… it’s their final gift to me. Their love given to me, despite my every attempt to make sure they despised me. It isn’t meant for me: It’s for them, and they give it back to me. Not just because they can no longer use it, but because they want to give it to me. I’m crying again. It hurts. It hurts in ways I hate, and ways I deserve, and ways I want it to hurt. Ways it has hurt before. Ways it will hurt again. … I won’t fail them again. I’ll take this love, I’ll live upon it. I’ll survive. Not one drop for anything save what I need. My suffering a way for me to somehow make up for all I did. My helplessness to know what they once felt like, under my rule. My fear of the minotaur amplified, to see the fear they must have had of me. I am no queen. I have no right to stand tall, or strong, or powerful. I deserve this suffering, and more to the point, I need it. I need it to help me change. To help me kill the old queen, and become something new. This pain, this regret, this shattered pride, they become my weapons to fight with. I will change. No matter how hard, no matter how much I hate it, I shall change. My body will recover on its own, and the minotaur are helping with that. I will… I blink, and focus again, feeling something on my muzzle. I look, and see the little one, Gem, wiping at my tears. “It’s O.K.” she tells me, and I see the potent emotions of the young in her. Deep concern, slight fear at seeing a big thing cry, and a kind of compassion, given to nearly everything. “…Why are you here?” I ask her, whispering. “Seeing you.” “Why?” She seems unsure, and I see the attempt in her to find words she doesn’t know. she wants to tell me she cares for me, somehow, and can’t. She simply pats at my head instead, smiling at me. I almost smile at her, and take some comfort in that. I do not. I do not deserve her care, and her weakness will be nothing save something for me to take advantage of later on. She must avoid me, for her sake. “Go away.” “What?” “Go away.” I say harder. She cannot be near me like this. I’ll do something horrible to her, twist her tiny mind like the putty it is to something I can use. Trap her in a cocoon and rip her love and life out to feed myself. I must not make the old mistakes. And that means not being near the children. She is unsure, slightly confused, but nods. She leaves, but she does so from obedience, not anything else. She is… a good whatever minotaur call their young. Calf maybe. I know it isn't nymph. I’d like to see her again. I move to sleep, sighing. I don’t know what I’m trying to do anymore. My mind is confused, and thoughts roar about, fighting one another. I’m not in a peaceful mood as I try to relax.