//------------------------------//
// 7: Underneath a cloche. 
// Story: Strange Letters from a Queen Bug Horse 
// by Roadie 
//------------------------------//



Dear Princess Celestia,

I've eaten your second breakfast. I do hope you don't mind: just thinking about political bother makes me terribly peckish, and you could really use the diet. You could really use the diet. Have you seen yourself from behind recently? Whatever trick you're using to stay so shapely won't help much once you've expanded in scale so far that you can't fit through the doorframes anymore.

The more important matter: the political nobs you sent to that little rendezvous are worse than useless. One of them dared to say that I need declared titles before an exchange of titles can occur. Ridiculous! Do you realize how much bother that would be? My changelings are a nation of me, not a nation of laws, and all this legalist nonsense is strictly for the benefit of your little ponies. The talk about reciprocity in law was even greater nonsense. The changeling law is thus: 'Figure it out or I'll have to come over there and none of you will be happy.'

I'm certainly not going to deal with all this bother myself. If your ponies are so desperate for these formalisms, they'll be doing the work for me. I'll need to borrow them again, of course. Probably for a while, in fact, to judge by the sheer volume of noise that handful of ponies produced that I didn't care about at all.

I do hope you enjoyed the fireworks, by the by. I did take care not to set your guardsponies on fire for too long: they should merely need some thorough trims. I certainly wasn't going to let your ponies know the location of my Canterlot headquarters this early. Now, you may nitpick that I only had your would-be dignitaries taken to a rented event hall and not my headquarters at all, but it's in the principle of the thing.

Yours in strange cuisine,
Queen Chrysalis




P.S. I'm serious about the diet. I've seen your doctors' notes.