//------------------------------// // Part: ??? // Story: Eyes in the Illusion // by Chapter 13 //------------------------------// The winds of the equestrian north roared with their perpetual anger. They tossed and turned, their snow filled furry bombarding the already saturated ground with a never-ending payload of crystallized cold. As far as the eye could see, pure white mounds of ever-shifting snow coated the forever unseen underburth. This particular part of equestria had never been seen without this blanket of white. As such, it would forever remain uncharted—the landscape shifting endlessly with careless abandon.  On this particular day, in this particular time, a single entity braved the torrent of hellish storm. The entity was mostly black, with dual strings of cyan on her head and rear. The cyan had become almost entirely white and hung lifelessly. The entity stood out like a stain. The northern winds seemed to take this as an insult and did their best to correct it by a covering in their pure white essence. Despite these attempts, the stain moved forward. It shook off the attempted correction as often as it could. The creature traveled forward, no direction in mind, and no purpose on its mind. No, the only thing that filled it's mind was it's direction: forward.  Hoofprints in the snow vanished almost as soon as they were made. Even when the entity stumbled, her numb legs momentarily betraying her, and it fell, she was quick to rise and continue her mindless track forward. This pattern had been getting slower and slower, as time moved on. Hoofprints were soon outnumbered by the amount of divots created upon each fall. This was known to the stain, but either ignored, or outright forgotten.  While this entity traveled with only a single purpose, that was not to say she was not mindless. No, her mind raced with reckless abandon. Memories, and emotions, ran rampant through the entities mind. Emotions like rage, hate and loathing. Thoughts, memories of what had lead up to her unfortunate stay in this landscape. Thoughts about what she would do to those who caused this, but none about how to escape.  A particularly strong gust blew the entity over. The resulting fault cause her to tumble down the hill of show she had been currently attempting to concur. She came to a stop at the bottom, and this time, did not get up.  "Curse my children and curse those ponies!" the entity attempted to scream. The result was like that of a mouse's squeak, overshadowed by the roaring of the northern winds. "If I ever see any of them again, their throats will be ripped out and their entrails used as tapestries to decorate my throne room!" It was petty, sending curses that currently held no weight. Even if her body wasn't numb, and her heart didn't ache from the constant strain of movement, her words still wouldn't have held weight. She was weak: her magic that had once rivaled that of either of the equestrian diarks was now gone—spent in a fool's gambit for glory and pride, her body was bloodied and bruised—only holding together by half-hearted first aid.  The entity tried to rise to her hooves with the burst of strength her anger carried, but it wasn't enough. Her body fell back onto the snow, only have risen half a hand. The entity was tired. Her body was tired. Her mind was tired. But her soul burned with the strength of a thousand suns. While it wasn't enough for her to rise from the growing tomb of white, but it was enough for her to remember her journey… ...The entity struggled with all her might. Her teeth and thrashed with all her strength. The struggle was pointless, made so by the binds on her horn, wings, muzzle and legs. Her body was dragged forward by several entities similar to her, but smaller and less pronounced features. They each had on a suit of sickly green armor, the entities own crest emblazoned upon their sides, but scratched and molested. Their emotions were unchanging, unreadable, with the only telltale signs of life being a little sadness in their insect-like eyes.  Further, the entity was dragged. Her body scraped against the polished floor that she herself had commissioned. Around her, sounds of chants, buzzing, and stomping filled the air like a cacophony of hate. She did not need to observe her surroundings, as they were as familiar to her as her hoof or carapace, to know where she was being dragged. It had been obvious to her the moment she was ambushed and shackled.  The chants suddenly stopped, so did her unwelcome advance, the moment she heard the sound of metal pounding stone. The entity tried to use this to her advantage. She rolled to her hooves and attempted to charge forward, only to be stopped by the chains held taught by the six figures at every end.  Before her was a grouping of seven creatures, each with the same emotionless expression across their features as the guards that chained her down. They were arranged in a 'V', with the vertex directly in front of her.  "Here stands the mother of our hive, chained and gagged, accused of the crime of treason!" the center most creature boomed.  There was applause. Her heart sank. She felt sadness. Anger seethed from her core, but sadness weighed heavily on her soul. “For her crimes, she is hereby banished from the hive! She will forever be the one who brought live to our hive, but not our mother. From henceforth, her name shall be erased from memory. Gone is the queen of changelings! Chrysalis, is no more!” New strength grew from the stain like the final spark of a dying ember. She rose to her hooves and held her head high. It was a moment of pride for the stain, almost a final hurrah before her inevitable demise. She stood there, cold, weak and dying. Yes, she was dying—that she knew. Her body had been enveloped by a false sense of warmth, a sign that hypothermia was finally starting to set in. With her newfound strength, the stain began to march forward. Her eyes stared down at the world, as if she was better then it. Her march was regal and proper—royal, in every sense of the word. The stain felt something surprisingly warm run down her cheek, but she ignored it. If she was going to die here, in this frozen hell, she would do so with the grace and dignity she deserved. She would not give those who had committed her to this fate the satisfaction of her weak, pitiable cries for help. No words of repentance would be uttered. No, she would go out the way she lived—as a queen. Time went by, but she kept her march. It dawned on her that none would see it, but that was fine with her. She had nothing more to prove—to no one that still drew breath, at least. The winds whispered to her. Chrysalis. The stain stopped her march. The single word hung in the air, uttered by someone who should not have been able to speak. Her head looked around for something, or someone, to explain said word's utterance. There was white, and nothing else. The stain bit her lip so hard it drew blood. Her head was held a bit lower as she continued her march. Come to bed, Chrysalis. More words hung in the air. The stain marched faster. I'm waiting for you. "No!" the stain screamed. The march became a gallop. Gone was it's regal nature, replaced with frantic panic and fear—sadness and loathing. The stain ran as fast as her hooves would let her. The stain could feel her strength waning, her last bit of life running short. Something came into view in front of her: a cave, barely visible through the snow. It was now her destination. With a final burst of strength, the stain slid into the mouth of the cave, and was swallowed up into the darkness beyond. The winds died down—the cold remained. The stain laid on the frozen flood of the small cave. Her heart raced. Sadness crept into her frozen heart. The stain felt all her pride wash away with the frozen wind. With a scream, the stain cried out. Not in anger or rage—not in revenge. No, her cry was out of sadness. Her facade had fallen in the echoed words of one not of world. She wept. Her body froze. Her mind became fuzzy. Her body was numb. Her eyes stung. The world began to fade. On this particular day, in this particular time, in a cave in the frozen north, a single entity let out a silent prayer. "Help..."