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// Chapter I; Chrysalide Des Cieux 
// Story: The Étoile Dansantes 
// by b00_j3nnn 
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It was a cold January day, and the clocks were striking twelve. Victor Arsenault, his dewy, juniper eyes drifting to the emerald chrysalis, washed with the soft winter light. The reflecting colours of the junebug green cocoon danced joyfully as if yearning for all the pleasures of Spring. Its divine yet modest glow pined for the fresh strawberries, tea sandwiches, and cakes of afternoon teas enveloped in the warm April air.

“Chrysalide Des Cieux, huh…” he mumbled to himself.

As one of his metallic prosthetic hooves stroked through his grizzled mane and he gazed deeply into his green visage, he let out a bitter sigh. A chrysalis from the heavens… it’s brought me nothin’  but prosperity yet guilt plagues my heart when I lose myself in its charms. Though the verdant cocoon’s ethereal radiance rivalled the garden of Eden, traces of villainy slithered under each layer. As Victor levitated the pupa and tucked it in his vest, he heaved himself from his bureau and drifted his attention to the snow-covered garth outside his lunette window. The sky donned her crystal-white gown that morning, the drapes kissing the grounds of Equestria. He ambled to the door, the withered wooden planks creaked under each trot he took and as he set hoof outside, the brisk air caressed his cheeks. Meek blackcaps serenaded the delights of Winter as they rested on mistletoe branches, the berries bunched like drops of ruby. The newly clothed trees rose like white fairy tails in that wintry scenery, for the grey clouds had bequeathed a bounty of snow.

As the snow crunched under his hooves, a choreographed ballet conducted by the light blew over the opal clearing danced under the light. Soft soughs of the wind mingled with the distant cries of torment. As Victor toiled onward, the cries grew louder and the billows of snow drenched in carnelian and the scent of iron became increasingly apparent. Right as he had intended to turn his head away, the familiarity of the scene gravitated him. Unease and terror brewed and churned in the pits of his stomach as dread swept him off his hooves. A disfigured crown, embellished with mutilated cuprite stained the marble coat garnet. “Velebeth…” Victor stifled as his husky voice trembled.

His thoughts spiralled out of control, desperately trying to uncover the cause of her passing. The mare’s delicate, porcelain coat plastered by her once opaque white nightgown, now permeated with her blood, her stiff, lifeless body strung out as if she was a lamb to the slaughter. He shook his head. She’s gone. She’s really gone… His clouded eyes darted desperately with the metronome in his chest growing faster.

The distortion of reality made anything and everything in-cohesive. The tracks of sanity have been mangled beyond recognition, littered with industrial movements and peppered with echoes of what used to be instruments. Fragments of melodies overlapped one another, fighting for the limelight which often made him ponder whether either one of those tunes really ever existed at all.

Though his heart was still beating, the essence of what made him, him, had decayed, his mind wilted and withered, leaving only a hollow husk of a stallion he once was. His eyes melted into the pool of malachite, drops of pearls welled. “What’s there to live for in life? For all the respect an’ charity of others purely cus’ of the occupation you fill? These professions determine lives, grantin’ us happiness yet never fulfillment. I’m guilty of the fruits they bear though, I feel no remorse or sympathy for lives lost yet when you, Velebeth…” Victor breathed. “What has become of us? How were we so blind to this? Velebeth, my love, you won’t need to wait any longer, for I will embark on a journey to resurrect you, even if the lives of other ponies must trot to the other side in exchange.” His coarse hooves clutched the chrysalis, ripping it from its nest and shattering it. Puffs of smoke envelop his flushed face as he drags the disfigured gem through the snow.

As the clouds of smoke washed over the late unicorn, her sides began rising and falling. Though a pulse was present, her mind and motion did not return. Before anypony else had stumbled upon such a crime against nature, the stallion unicorn mustered the last sliver of magic and teleported both him and the mare back to his store. As he hurriedly shut every window and closed every blind, setting Velebeth onto a spare mattress, tucking her under a thick, padded quilt. While carefully kindling some firewood and piped the dwindling embers with his bellows, his sullen malachite drifted back to the mare in slumber.

The weathered stallion sat himself at his study and collected himself. After reevaluating his and the mare’s circumstances, it was clear that he would have to spend a substantial amount of time tending to her and if he was honest with himself, he would be unfit to travel far with his prosthetic legs. “Celestia was not kind to us but I shall find a way for you.” Victor reassured the unconscious mare as he hastily levitated a scroll and quill. Velebeth never had many ponies she would regard as friends but the ones she did were genuine. Other than Victor, she was terribly close with a travelling group of bards. The band often traveled around Equestria and after a few moments of pondering their names, it hit him. After much thought, the stallion began writing his letter to them for aid;

Dear Killjoy Basso and band,

I regret to inform you all that Velebeth Rosenberg has fallen victim to a tragic incident which has left her in critical condition. I trust that you all understand I could not alert the royal guards of this due to her line of work but it’s important that you all know that it seems she won’t be able to gain consciousness if not for some divine intervention. I apologise for not being able to provide further information but I beg of you to please hurry to The Crested Crux at 7/25 Canterbury Avenue, which should be 3o’clock from Canterlot archives. I trust that you will arrive quickly.

Sincerely, Victor Arsenault.

The stallion hastily wax sealed the letter and galloped to the nearest post office. Once Victor returned back, the mare was still resting on her bed, the slow rise and fall of the blanket reassuring the stallion of her wellbeing. “Don’t worry hun, you’ll be alright…”