//------------------------------// // Chapter Two // Story: Maternal Instinct // by Magic Man //------------------------------// Maternal Instinct Chapter Two Chrysalis was not having a good day. Her schedule for the day was packed with several long meetings. The first was with her cabinet of ministers, followed by her top generals, then the palace staff, it was an endless list. The majority of governments to the world's numerous and diverse nations went through the same grind, the Queen's kingdom in the still underdeveloped Far East being no exception, thus was the price of 'modernization'. She personally could not bear these long, tedious meetings with these incompetent buffoons inside that dreary, freezing closet of a room as they were. They already taxed heavily on her free time and sleep, but the ones she had today, preceded by those over the last several weeks were proving particularly painful for the ageing mare. “Your Majesty? Are…are you with us?” That was the polite, formal way of saying, ‘wake up, you lazy mare!’ Chrysalis forced her heavy eyelids open to glare daggers across the table at her new Minister of Immigration and Citizenship. He was an exceptionally short and bespectacled changeling with a thin, long cerulean beard. He sat cross-legged to her left at the short table where the entirety of the cabinet also sat, all cross-legged and dressed in muted kimonos. Chrysalis herself sat at the far end of table, as was custom, with the Prime Minister to her right. “I’m awake,” she growled, pinching her sinuses. “Continue.” “Yes, well,” he cleared his throat and proceeded to read from his documents. “The official reports have come back.” His face was grim, as if he supported the entire weight of the kingdom upon his shoulders and his hooves would give out at any moment. “Officially, a total of 138,000 changelings left the kingdom last year. That is a 24,000 increase from the previous year. Out of that number, the majority have left for Equestria and the Fillypines, and a significant minority have gone to the Griffin Empire and even the Diamond Dog Republic...” He trailed off uncertainly when the Queen raised her hoof. “Diamond Dogs. My subjects now prefer to live amongst mangy, flea-bitten mongrels than under me, is that what you've just told me?” The Minister did not know how to respond. His worried eyes glanced towards his fellow ministers for assistance, who either just shrugged or kept out of eye contact. “Well?” Her voice grew impatient. Eventually, all the Minister could do was shrug and stutter, “W-well…I can’t anything on their intentions, Your Majesty. We lack the data.” Chrysalis took in a deep breath and sighed. “I’ve heard enough of this. Move on to the next item of business.” Checking the schedule, the Prime Minister motioned to another minister further down the table, saying, “We have a report from the Ministry of Health.” The stallion shuffled his papers and read from them, sounding even more dejected than his preceding colleague, “Your Majesty, in spite our best efforts to curtail it, I'm afraid to inform you hatchling mortality rates are still seeing a worrying rise." "Hmm..." The Queen clucked her tongued thoughtfully, not even looking in his general direction. That was now, sadly, the fifth year in a row. "Yes. That is proving yet another problem to our ever-growing list, isn't it? I honestly think I may given you one of the most depressing jobs in the whole kingdom, Minister." The minister shrunk in his seat and she ordered dully, “I want this kept on top priority. I can't keep building an army with my soldiers dying prematurely on me. Next.” The Prime Minister boredly pointed a hoof at the next dead changeling walking. The Minister for Agriculture and Food, the most aged and haggard out of all the changelings there, wiped his glasses and opened up his folder, slowly scanning through his documents with strain. The other ministers waited patiently out of respect for their worn colleague. “I stand corrected,” she deadpanned. There was an old saying that went around in changeling politics that if you wanted to look older and fast, become the Minister for Agriculture and Food. This Changeling had been doing the job for five years, and he looked at least ten years older than he started. The Minister’s news was grave. “The food shortage, I am afraid, my Queen, is reaching critical levels in many of the prefectures, primarily of the southern regions. The situation is dire.” “What else is new?” she yawned uninterestedly, examining her hoof. “Analysts from our kingdom, in collaboration with the League of Nations, have found that unless serious action is taken within the next three years, the south will face a creaturtarian crisis.” Far from showing shock or concern over this revelation, as would be expected if the situation were taking place with any other world leader, Chrysalis craned back her neck to stare up at the darkness that clouded the ceiling from sight. It was old news to her, more so than you would think, seeing how this mess was all part of her inheritance. She said nothing for the next minute and a half, and no minister dared speak during that moment of time in case she did. When she broke the silence, it was enough to nearly make the other ministers jump from their spots. “You know…you’d think, wouldn’t you? That being them being the region where they’re leaving the most--” She looked at the Immigration Minister. “Is that right?” He nodded. “You’d think they’d actually be more love for them to share around, or even just basic food,” she figured, tracing the tip of her large hoof along the polished table surface. “You know why they’re leaving? The Changelings in those regions have become greedy. No, worse; they’ve become like ponies.” The tone of her voice became very scornful when talking of her own subjects as she laid bare her own conclusions. Her shoulders tensed up and her hoof was now loudly scratching up the two million yen table. “They can’t be content with what they already have. I’m doing all within my power to help my subjects, but now they’re turning their backs on me and scurrying off like vermin! Well, you know what? If that’s the kind of respect they show their Queen, they can burn in Tartarus for all I care!” She pointed at the Immigration Minister. “You.” “Yes, my Queen?” “Congratulations, I’ve just made your job a lot easier.” Chrysalis stuck her muzzle in the air in a royal manner. “We’ll hear no more reports on those ungrateful cretins who are leaving. They are not worthy of our time.” The immediate reception of this informal decree, albeit not openly expressed, was mixed at best. On one side were the devout monarchists, made up mostly of nobility, who backed their Queen’s decisions to the very end, and who coincidentally found themselves in the higher, more key positions within the cabinet. The rest would be considered more independent or liberal thinkers, mainly professionals holding position with less political clout. Most of the monarchists likely agreed with her that keeping record of these emigrants was needless, considering that their Queen’s view was they were practically traitors, but the others were probably wringing their hooves beneath the table at suddenly losing this important statistic. But no matter their reservations, no changeling spoke out and accepted their Queen’s decision. “Only those who prove their loyalty to me in the southern region will receive any help. We need to spend the next five--wait a second…” her face suddenly tensed and her eyes lit up. In her rant, she had too easily forgotten an important detail her Minister mentioned, which then hit her between the eyes. She snapped her head back in the direction of her Food Minister. “I’m sorry, how long did you say we had?” He gulped and replied, “Three years, ma’am.” “Uh, no. No. You told me last time we had five! And that was like, what, three months ago?” “Well, y-yes, but upon further inspection, ma’am, they’ve deducted the more accurate estimate is three.” She furrowed her brows, snapping at the Prime Minister, “Give me my copy!” The leader of the cabinet used his magic to levitate the top of a short stack of folders in the centre of the table and set it in front of the Queen, who donned a pair of small reading glasses and rummaged through the folder. She detested wearing them; they made her feel like an old mare. “Alright, let’s see here…” she mumbled to herself. It was not the inevitable rage from their Queen that had the ministers terrified, but the silence, that was the worst part. The knowledge that it was coming, just sitting there helplessly and waiting for it to happen. And happen it did, though not for the reasons they were expecting. “Wha…what?” Chrysalis’ expression became that of confusion, and then quickly followed by anger. “What the…” She scowled, removed her glasses and barked at her underlings. “What is this?!” Dead silence, until the Prime Minister forced himself to speak, “W-w-what do you mean, ma’am?” “WHAT. IS. THIS!?” Her horn glowed sickly green and several documents flew out of the folder and suspended in mid-air. The ministers went wide-eyed, with some restraining themselves from giggling at what they saw. These were indeed the documents, but they had been defiled to the point the writing was unintelligible. Scrawled all over the surface of these documents were large, brightly coloured doodles. They were drawn most crudely, even for doodles of trademark critters like rabbits and cats. It was something a larva having only just grown its legs would make. “Hmm,” the Food Minister adjusted his glasses and leaned in to get a better look. “I do believe the one on the left is supposed to be a cat. The one beneath it I believe to be a dog. It’s quite hard to tell, Your Majesty, these aren’t exactly works of art.” “Actually, I think that one in the corner there…” the Health Minister grinned slyly, pointed at the bottom right corner on the document the second from the right. It was a sloppy picture of a changeling that had not been filled in black and had a large green crown on its head. “I think that is supposed to be you.” Silence resumed as the Queen narrowed her eyes down to slits. Her cheeks were blushing in embarrassment, but were thankfully covered up by the locks of mane over her face. She dropped the documents, only rolling one up and keeping it by her side and rose from her sat position, stating in a tone as dry as a desert, “Hey, you know what? Buck it. This meeting is over. We’ll reconvene next week, same time.” “But, ma’am, the matters at hoof--” the Prime Minister tried to say. “Can wait for a week, Prime Minister. You’re all dismissed.” The ministers got up and bowed in unison, as was tradition, and the Queen walked around the table, hissing something in the Prime Minister’s ear. He straightened up and followed her out the room. When both were gone, the remaining ministers slumped their shoulders and either let out collective sighs of relief or a chorus of restrained sniggering under their breath. “I’m getting a drink,” the Immigration Minister said as they all began shuffling out of the room. “I’ll join you,” The Defence Minister patted his shoulder. “I’m going to need it for the briefing this afternoon. Cricka, will you be joining us?” Remaining seated, the Food Minister kept reading through his thick folder. “No. I need to meet with my undersecretary after this. I’m booked all the way up to eleven, tonight. I’ll see you all next week.” “I want him replaced by next week’s meeting.” The Prime Minister did a double take, keeping at his Queen’s heels as they both turned a corner in the wide hallway. “Replace Cricka? Are you sure, ma’am? He’s been working extra hours every night for last six months--” “He’s suffered enough. I’ll give him his pension and a dacha. You just make sure he announces his resignation by tomorrow, and that you have somechangeling else in the position before the next cabinet meeting. I need a changeling with a glimmer competence for this bucking mess.” Chrysalis’ kingdom had unfortunately fallen on evil days, and even that may be considered an understatement by some. For each political problem, there were three economic or social ones, blaring across the headlines of the international newspapers and the results of which were becoming more difficult to cover up from the rest of the world. Hundreds of thousands of her people were packing up and fleeing from the kingdom to make the journey to Equestria and start a new life. Many of them were skilled and qualified workers, causing a crippling brain drain. Worse still, the shortages of food and basic materials and products were as bad as they had ever been. A record number of changelings were dying of starvation every year. It all led to one massive headache for Chrysalis that she would not wish on any of her enemies... except maybe Celestia and Luna. “Yes, my Queen. It will be done.” He stopped when she turned into a passageway leading to a spiral staircase. “You have a military briefing in two hours, ma’am.” “I know.” She stopped to show him the rolled up document before storming up the stairs. “I just have a few things to take care of, first!” In a small but beautifully decorated room in the eastern tower of the palace, Princess Pupa sat cross-legged in front of a small round table littered with papers and a whole rainbow of crayons. She barely managed to levitate a purple one in the air with her puny horn, which gave off a few measly green sparks. The crayon sloppily ran across the paper, and the filly furrowed her brows in concentration, though it did not help much as her artistic skills left much to be desired. Sat not too far away at a short varnished desk was Cerci, who was busy writing on a scroll quietly whilst the filly played, using a brush she infrequently dipped back into a small ink pot. She was writing a letter to her sister, who lived outside the capital in one of the hundreds of surrounding villages in the prefecture. As a servant in the royal household, her contact with family and friends living outside the extravagant palace was not an easy task. Cerci suddenly felt something hit her on the back of her head. She looked over her shoulder to see a rolled up piece of paper fall to the carpet. She levitated it up and flattened it out. It was another one of Pupa’s many drawings. It featured three characters, all crudely drawn, but identifiable as changelings, complete with tiny pink hearts surrounding them. She figured that the smallest was meant to be Pupa; the one to the left with a pink mane was easily herself and finally, the one with a large yellow crown and green mane was Queen Chrysalis. It was adorable; Pupa with her two favourite changelings in the world. Ignoring the picture’s shoddiness, she smiled encouragingly at the filly, “My, my, we have an artist in the royal family, it would seem.” Pupa beamed at the praise and got back to work on her next masterpiece, and Cerci set the paper down on her table. “Now you finish up whatever else you’re drawing. We’re going to go outside in the gardens soon and later we can get you some lunch.” Her eyes going wide as dinner plates, the Crown Princess of the Changeling Kingdom licked her lips in anticipation. She pushed the drawing she was currently working on aside and began drawing, however poorly, all the things she imagined she was going to gorge her insatiable appetite on, including rice, ramen and a big bowl of love soup. While the Princess’ happiness gave her happiness, Cerci could not help but feel deep-rooted remorse when thinking about Pupa and her day-to-day life. All her cousins were right now receiving their elite education by their tutors, while she, despite being past the age to begin her studies, remained all day with her, drawing, painting, playing with her toys, and any activity that would not be considered too vigorous for the filly. Only once did Cerci summon the courage to discuss the matter of Pupa’s education with Queen Chrysalis. It was when Pupa was nearly old enough to start schooling and not a word had been spoken of arrangements or tutors or anything learning related. She began to fear the filly’s education was simply being neglected, something she could not allow for her country’s future leader. She put it off for a few days, but Cerci finally decided to visit Chrysalis’ royal chambers at night to ask her about it. At that time, the Queen was signing a whole mountain’s worth of documents, so her ire was to be expected. “What do you want?” she asked more with tedium than anger, lying down on her favourite cushiony rug with her back to Cerci, using her horn magic to write on some documents with a black brush. Cerci closed the door and gingerly took a few steps forwards, saying, “Forgive me, Your Majesty. I just really need to discuss an important matter with you.” The Queen, at first, did not reply, creating an air of fear and suspense. Cerci felt her forehead moisten, fearing she had a made a serious mistake even coming in. “So talk,” Chrysalis finally said, now sounding irritated. “What is it?” “Your Majesty, it’s... it’s about Pupa,” she said nervously. “That’s a shocker,” she muttered, rolling her huge, bug-like eyes and turning her head slightly to look at her out the corner of her left. “What about her?” “I only wish to know... when she will begin her education.” The brush Chrysalis was writing with stopped and returned delicately to its ink pot. Sitting back on her haunches, she looked at Cerci like the latter had a leg growing out her forehead instead of a little horn. “What?” she asked, almost sounding like she was about to laugh. “It... it’s just that, there’s been no talk on it,” explained Cerci, rubbing one foreleg with the other. “And the little one is now of school age. If you want me go searching for tutors suitable for her special nee--” Chrysalis waved her hoof and she immediately stopped talking. Stretching her stiff back, Chrysalis resettled herself on her rug and told her a matter-of-factly, picking up her brush, “I appreciate your concern, Cerci, but that won’t be necessary. It’s already been decided.” “How do you mean?” “I mean, we’re not going to bother with it, at all.” The moment she said that, Cerci stepped back, as if she were a stricken filly. She became suspicious that Chrysalis was neglecting the filly’s education, somewhat understandable due to the filly’s ‘special needs’, but to dismiss it entirely, to not even try, was just shocking to the servant. Cerci stuttered, sounding utterly flabbergasted, “B-But Your Majesty, I... why?” “We talked with her doctors,” Chrysalis answered apathetically like the whole matter was a triviality, while returning to her work. “They believe she’ll be overburdened if we force her to attend school. Personally, I can’t see any benefit in it, either.” “Then... then what will she--” “You’ll take care of her. You’ll make sure she’s fed, groomed and happy. That’s all there is to it.” “But--” Chrysalis snapped her head at Cerci, startling the servant, glaring intensely at her. She hissed acidly, as if challenging her, “Oh, I’m sorry, do you have a problem with the way I’m raising my own daughter, Cerci?” She hung her head in defeat. “No, my Queen.” “Good. Now get out.” Although common sense told her it would have done no good and would most likely have resulted with her head on a pike, Cerci still could not shake off her guilt for not taking a stand against her Queen those years ago and allowing her charge to be effectively cast aside. Since that encounter, Pupa had not received a single day’s worth of education and it was most unlikely she ever would. Such indolence was normally not accepted of any member of the royal family, especially regarding education which, in a nation like theirs, was held with such great importance. But due to the circumstances the royal family found itself in, Pupa became an understandable exception. In a way of making up for her perceived failure of duty, Cerci took it upon herself to teach Pupa some basic skills at least. She taught her the alphabet, how to use a quill and her beloved crayons and their biggest achievement, how to spell her own name. None of it was easy, but it was the least she could do for Pupa and sooth her own guilty conscious. Finding herself, in her reminiscing, staring off into space in a trancelike state, Cerci shook her head and returned to finishing off her letter to her sister. It was meant to be short, telling her how everything was fine and asking how the family was, but it had taken nearly half an hour and by now, Pupa was done with her drawing and was getting antsy to go outside. Just then, the door to the room suddenly and swiftly fwooshed open. Both changelings turned around in surprise to see a most unpleased matriarch standing in the doorway. “Having fun?!” Chrysalis seethed through bared teeth, her anger towards the filly hardly concealed. “Your Majesty,” Cerci dropped her brush, sprung up and bowed. “Whatever is the matter? Is there something--” Chrysalis ignored her presence entirely, whipping out the defiled document and holding it up for them to see. “What do you call this?!” She asked her daughter, though not expecting an answer. Pupa only gawked at it, having no idea what to make of it. “Um, I believe it is a cat, Your Majesty,” Cerci offered. “Shut up, Cerci!” she snapped viciously at her and marched over to Pupa, practically shoving the document in her face. “You’ve been drawing on my papers again! Admit it!” When you put them together, Pupa was definitely the spitting image of her mother. They shared the same mane, the same coat and even the same monstrous malformed spire protruding out their foreheads. If one was given a photograph of Chrysalis during her fillyhood and one of Pupa to compare, they would find it difficult to distinguish them, if not for the obvious physical deformities in the current Princess’ appearance. Pupa crumpled like a paper bag under the weight of her mother’s anger. She looked away from the doodles riddling the paper and down at her hooves ashamedly, making a pathetic whimpering noise. Taking that for a ‘yes’, and after double-checking with the doodles on the table, Chrysalis slammed the document on the table top. “These are my documents! You don’t draw on my documents, they’re mine! Do you understand?!” The filly kept her head buried, which only angered Chrysalis further, who then took her chin in her hoof and yanked her up. “Pupa! Are you listening to me!?” “I’m sure she didn’t mean to--” “I told you to shut your mouth!” she then whirled back on Pupa, getting up in her face. “What do you have to say for yourself?” Pupa whimpered some more and nodded, getting visibly more and more upset. A normal filly was likely to understand the severity of the situation, but Pupa was not a normal filly. She knew her mother was very angry with her, but her tiny mind could not wrap around why. She drew doodles all the time and it was only paper. Mother should not yell at her. It terrified her when she yelled. She curled up again and mumbled something incoherent, the closest thing she could form to an, ‘I’m sorry’. “Oh, you’re ‘sorry’? You’re sorry?! Do you have any idea how much you embarrassed me in my meeting, young lady?!” Chrysalis snarled and grabbed her by the shoulder, raising her own hoof threateningly like she was about to smack the quivering Pupa. “Do you want me to beat you? Is that what you want?!” “Your Majesty! Wait!” Chrysalis’ hoof froze in mid-air and dropped back to the floor. “Ugh...” She slowly pivoted her head at the mere peasant and disguised her annoyance with a faux sweet smile. Instead of berating her for speaking out of turn again, she decided to indulge her. “Yes, Cerci? What would you like to say?” Cerci already knew the risk of what she was about to do, but the last thing she wanted was for the Princess to suffer the consequences of her mother’s wrath. The poor thing did not understand. She took in a deep breath, bracing herself and explained calmly, “Please do not be mad at her, my Queen. She does not know any better. She had no idea what they were. I am responsible for her, so it is my fault.” “Is that right?” she sneered doubtfully. “Yes. Please, allow me to be the changeling who is punished.” At first, nochangeling said anything, until Chrysalis shrugged and said plainly, “Alright...” She released Pupa and walked over to Cerci with the calmest expression on her face. She looked her up and down, and in a blink of an eye, pulled back her hoof and rammed it right into Cerci’s muzzle. The tiny Princess gasped in horror, but Cerci just stood there and took it, even straightening up for the Queen’s expected second blow. This time, it was right to the mouth, nearly sending her off her hooves and any harder, would have knocked out one of her fangs. Finished, Chrysalis calmed herself down, steadying her breath and blowing a strand of mane from her face. “Much better,” she finally said, sounding positively refreshed, though retaining her hard expression. “I think that’s fitting enough punishment. You’re forgiven, Cerci.” She turned around and walked towards the door. When she passed her daughter, who was still petrified by what transpired, her icy gaze softened a bit and she mechanically petted her on the head. “You’re forgiven too, Pupa.” Before she left the room, Chrysalis turned to Cerci one more time and said, “I have a briefing to get to in two hours. At least try to keep her out of my mane for that long, Cerci. I do not need her distracting me anymore today, understood?” Bright green blood trickled from Cerci’s muzzle and mouth, but she kept it covered with the back of her hoof. “Yes, ma’am,” she answered, though she was clearly in pain. The Queen left the room without another word to either of them. Pupa sat there on the chair, an utterly horrible new feeling eating away at her internally. She loved her mother very much but she managed to make her angry at her, and now Cerci was probably going to be angry at her, too. It was enough to finally bring tears flooding from her eyes. Cerci was quick to spot this and, covering her bleeding muzzle with her silk hoofkerchief, she went over to the small table to console her. “Shhhh. It’s okay, sweetie, it wasn’t your fault,” she hushed, taking her into a tight embrace. “Please, don’t cry.” Pupa mumbled into her shoulder, repeating her heartfelt ‘I’m sorry’. It tore Cerci’s heart to see her normally happily filly distraught. As a nanny, it was hard not to get attached to your charge, going to lengths of loving them as your own. How could her own mother yell right in her cherub’s face, or even raise an angry hoof against her? She knew Pupa would always love her mother more than she ever would her, and that only made Chrysalis’ harsh treatment more painful to watch. Did Pupa do something wrong? Of course, but with no malicious intent, like a dog chewing on its master’s slippers. Could she be self-centred and impertinent? Sometimes, yes. But spiteful? Never. The problem was how to explain and justify it all to a young filly with her condition. She gave it her best shot. “Your mother’s... just really stressed. She doesn’t mean to be so mad all the time; it’s just that she has a lot to deal with. The kingdom has got a lot of problems. But it will get better, I promise.” Cerci held her so they made direct eye contact. Pupa raised her hoof to touch the blood stained hoofkerchief in concern, but Cerci pushed it down and held her close to her chest. “Don’t touch it. It’ll heal. I’ll be alright. Everything will be alright, I promise.” The Princess relaxed in her nanny’s embrace, drinking in the warmth and feeling reassured by her soothing words. Cerci took the liberty of dabbing up her tears with the unstained parts of her hoofkerchief. She was honestly not sure how Pupa got a hold of her mother’s documents and drew over them without her knowledge. It was possible she did it when she went off crawling around the palace when Cerci had to perform other duties and leave one of the less attentive nannies in charge of her, who often gave Pupa something to do and left her to her own devices. One time, Pupa went missing for hours, but they eventually found her in an open closet, chewing on a mop. Rest assured, that nanny found herself suffering the full consequences. “Come on, let’s get you wrapped up and we can go outside and have some fun,” she gently whispered in Pupa’s ear as she got up and this time, placed Pupa on her back to carry her about, making her look an awful lot like the creatures of old who were said to ride on top of equines for transport. “I hear the protection spell has kept a lot of the garden plants alive and pretty.” Pupa responded by wrapping her good right foreleg around Cerci’s neck and nuzzled into her lavender mane, making an infantile cooing sound as the two exited the room. She was so glad to have Cerci around to care for her and keep her safe, even from her mother’s anger. Cerci would always be there for her, no matter what. Although she no longer felt so guilty for Cerci’s injury, Pupa still felt bad about how much she had upset her mother. She wanted to make it all better, but how? But as nanny and filly got changed and made their way to the gardens, she already began thinking of just the plan to make things right. Who knows? Maybe she could even make her mother smile for once... Out of the hundreds of rooms and apartments making up the palace, there were a hooffull strictly for the Queen’s use. One such room was her private bathroom located in the sublevels of the palace, specifically designed to meet her lofty standards in pampering and refreshment. It also served as a means of secluding herself from the sources of her headaches. The room differed greatly from the others in its brightly coloured interior design. Flowing rose and pink fabrics hung from the ceiling and draped across the walls to the floor, removing the edges from the square room. Said walls and floors were slabs of solid black rock each polished to a mirror surface and inlaid with gold floral designs. Smack-dab in the centre was the large circular steaming hot onsen pool surrounded by a collection of multicoloured candles. A team of hoofmaidens, attendants, groomers and masseuses stood at attention in a row before the onsen, all sporting dazzling brightly coloured manes with matching pretty eyes. “Queen Chrysalis, welcome,” the head servant, who sported a neatly done emerald green mane addressed her as they all bowed. “The onsen is ready for your use.” “Good.” Chrysalis stared down at the kimono draped around her body, before very reluctantly and slowly slithering herself out of it and giving the tiny crown on her head to a servant who placed it on a silk cushion. The sudden rush of cool air against her body made her fur stand on end and goose bumps formed on the skin. She kept her legs close together and held her head high to maintain her superior disposition in front of these insectoid mares. In the last several years, Chrysalis did not like other changelings seeing her without a kimono on, as opposed to her youth when she showed off her stunningly gorgeous body to be marvelled and drooled over by every stallion within a thousand miles. It was not that she had grown prudish; she enjoyed the attention of stallions and the control she had over them. The reason was that her beauty had faded before its time. Chrysalis had gained weight and it showed in the belly that hung between her legs like it was carrying bricks and strained her carapace. Her legs were fatter as well, concentrated in the thighs and hindquarters. Worse still, her body was marred by pale stretch marks around the thighs, hips and belly. Her face and mane also suffered; there were more premature lines than she could count beneath her cavernous eyes that were not just caused by lack of sleep and her mane was really beginning to thin, meaning she could not wear it long for much longer. Without hesitation, Chrysalis climbed into the onsen and allowed herself to be engulfed to the neck up by the relaxing hot spring water, her breath shuddering as she did. She leaned her head and dipped her mane in the water, then pulled it to let it rest all together on her shoulder. Meanwhile, the servants scurried about the room, preparing the furniture and equipment. Chrysalis watched them for the next five minutes through narrowed envious eyes; flouting their slim and slender bodies like the little harlots they were. She could only think of how much they starved themselves or make themselves sick to get those perfect hourglass figures, or all the action those tramps got from the palace guards. “Your Majesty?” She looked up to see one of them standing over her. “Yes?” “We’re ready for you, now. If you’re ready...” “Five more minutes,” she murmured, sinking deeper into the pool. Her muscles had not fully relaxed in the water yet. She regretted it five minutes later when she became so accustomed to the onsen that, like always, she had to get the servants to practically pull her out. Out of the onsen, a quick flick of her horn casted a drying spell on the changeling Queen. Her servants guided her over to a bed, which she climbed onto and carefully laid on her belly, head in her hooves and wings sprawled lazily to her sides. They were to begin with a massage to relief any remaining stress and tension, which they found a lot of. “My Queen, you are carrying so much tension,” stated the lead masseuse who was working her shoulders. “I haven’t noticed--gah!!” she muttered sarcastically and suddenly cringed when a surge of pain shot up her spine. The masseuses ceased what they were doing and one asked, concerned, “My Queen, what is wrong?” Chrysalis forced a hoof behind her to point out the source of the problem. “My back...” she grunted, the pain subsiding. “I’ve been having problems with my back for days now.” “Oh, Your Majesty, you should have told us,” the lead masseuse said sympathetically, her and the others fearing repercussions. “I assure you, we’ll be more gentle.” “Just around my back,” she responded firmly, raising her head to them momentarily. “I still want the full treatment.” As they got right back to work, Chrysalis could not fully relax, despite their best efforts. She could not see them, but imagined perfectly how they were sneering behind her back, mocking her for the old mare she now was. Her excessive weight; the unsightly stretch marks; the loose folds of skin on her aching back and everything about her testifying how obsolete she was compared to the younger, prettier models. It filled her with so much self-loathing it was going to give her another bad case of indigestion. When the massage ended, her limbs felt like rubber. They readjusted the bed into a chair to allow the Queen to sit up in a reclined position while they continued the rest of the royal treatment. The groomers took the lead, with one brushing the cerulean mane (and then the tail which dropped out through the space beneath the backrest) with firm but never rough strokes while the others busied themselves with the knots or gently trimming the mane to a reasonable length. The hoofmaidens levitated the heavy files to give her a much needed hooficure and sharpened her fangs and enormous dulled horn, the latter of which sent a tingling sensation through her skull. To top it off, a facial, complete with huge tubs of facial cream. “How did it come to this?” she suddenly asked of a hoofmaiden who was hovering over her, filing her horn. “My Queen?” “Look at me...” Chrysalis sighed heavily, looking over herself with melancholy eyes. “I’m hideous.” The servants grimaced. They were all rehearsed with how to deal with the Queen whenever she got like this, but that did not make it any less unbearable. “No, my Queen, no,” the same hoofmaiden assured her with a weak smile, resuming the horn filing. “Don’t talk nonsense. You are the definition of changeling beauty.” Chrysalis scoffed at this meagre compliment and went on to deride herself. “I used to turn every stallion's head within a hundred miles. Look at me now.” The head servant who oversaw the team tried to reason, “You have a filly--” “How many do you have?” “... eighteen.” Even the other servants had to stop at her statement and do a double take. Even by changeling society standards, that was a lot, and by the creator above, she looked fantastic! That small midsection of hers was a testament to that. Chrysalis blinked and her ear twitched, the pale green facial mask only serving to make her blank expression appear comical. “That’s it. You. Get me my bowl,” she ordered the attendant closest to her. She looked very reluctant. “Your Majesty, the doctors say it really isn’t--” “Are you disobeying a direct order from your Queen?” “Of course not--” “Then get-my-bowl!” The attendant flew off and returned seconds later, carrying a large bowl made of the same polished black rock as the floors and walls in her hooves, containing a long black feather. All the other servants backed off as Chrysalis took the bowl and levitated the feather in front of her tilted back head. Taking a deep breath and closing her eyes, she opened her mouth as wide as possible and stuck the feather deep into her throat. She immediately withdrew the feather as she retched violently and threw her head forward to vomit into the bowl. She repeated the process twice, before collapsing against the backrest to catch her breath until the royal treatment resumed. One attendant gave her some water to rinse and spit into another bowl. Self-induced vomiting was nothing new amongst changeling high society. Although experts had outlined in the detail the health detriments outweighing the benefits, it had still not fully died out. It made their Queen feel better, so no changeling tried to stop her. “What colour would you like your hooves, Your Majesty?” asked a maid who knelt down and took out a wooden vial rack of hoof polish of many colours. “Black, as usu--what happened to your eye?” Chrysalis did not notice it at first, but the maid was sporting an unsightly black eye, which the latter unsuccessfully hid behind a red mane strand. “My eye? Oh, my... uh, my husband did it, my Queen.” Her overly wide toothy smile and the way she stammered and her eyes shifted told she was lying. “It was my fault. I put on a dress he didn’t like.” Lifting her limp hoof, she pushed the attendant’s mane away and examined the inflicted area like a caring mother would do her child. “Really? If that’s the case, you must be married to an eight-year-old filly. Tell your Queen the truth.” “... Princess Pupa did it this morning, when I was trying to dress her.” She added quickly, “It was still my fault, though. I wasn't being gentle enough--” “That filly...” A deep growl rattled her vocal cords, feeling the tension return and a pulse on the side of her head. She motioned the maid to get to work whilst she brooded. Just thinking of her daughter at the moment and how she made a mockery of her cabinet meeting was enough to boil her green blood. “You won’t believe what she did to me, today...” It was not the first time Pupa’s childish antics caused Chrysalis embarrassment in front of her subjects and thinking about today only made her recall other incidents she would sooner forget. There was, for just one of many examples, Pupa’s first and last military parade, where half a million soldiers in the changeling military took part in a traditional march through the capital city to celebrate the country’s military might and its pride. It was a tradition for the royal family to oversee the parade on the balcony of the palace as the faces of the nation. However, it did not go as swimmingly as hoped when the then very young Pupa was brought out. Within minutes, Pupa became so frightened by the scene before her and the deafening sounds of military drums and music that she started crying, loudly. Cerci could do nothing except to quietly comfort her, "Don't cry, it'll be over soon”, until a repulsed Chrysalis gave them her permission to leave. Chrysalis was so ashamed and disgusted with her daughter’s apparent show of weakness that she barred her from attending future military events. It was easy for a common changeling or pony to denounce Chrysalis as cold and unnecessarily harsh in her treatment of Pupa, but from her perspective, she only held her to the same expected standards her own parents did, regardless of disability. For the future ruler of their country and its people and defender of their traditions, softness could not be afforded. If anything, Chrysalis was doing her a favour. The problem, as she saw it, was the incessant mollycoddling by that idiot nanny of hers. “I’m seriously considering replacing that moron Cerci...” the moment she said, nearly everychangeling else’s ears pricked up. “Really, Your Majesty?” The head servant smirked, flicking her mane back and putting her hooves together. “Well, I would not call that an unwise decision, my Queen, given her sheer display of incompetence. There are those much more deserving of such an important position.” Chrysalis did her best to hide her amused grin. She expected this. Cerci was not so popular with the lower ranking servants in the palace, holding a position of which many of them felt they were more deserving. Whilst she was toying with the idea of replacing Cerci, it was low on her list of priorities, and it was far more fun watching these opportunistic mares grovelling at the idea of themselves receiving the job, that and indulging their hopes for her own amusement. “Like you?” She beamed at that, probably thinking the opportunity of a lifetime was right in front of her. “Well...” she flicked her mane again and placed her hoof over her chest proudly. “I’m certainly not one to toot my own horn, but being a mother of eighteen, I think--” Snip. That small, sharp cutting sound brought the whole room to silence. Chrysalis looked physically stunned when an entire severed lock of her beautiful cerulean mane fell past her face and onto her lap. The groomer responsible, who was just trying to trim her fringe, dropped the scissors she was levitating to the stone floor with a loud clatter. Everychangeling else stopped what they were doing, all of them gasping and holding their hooves to their mouths in horror and taking more than two steps back. But while they looked horrified, the groomer in question looked as if she were ready to drop dead, with the dark grey literally draining from her face. Chrysalis picked the thick lock up in her hooves, staring down at it with an expression conveying neither anger nor upset. It was the lock that traditionally always draped over one side of her face. What seemed like eternity passed until Chrysalis spoke. “You cut off my favourite lock.” The groomer collapsed to her knees and burst into tears. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Please, Your Majesty, I-I didn’t mean to!” She begged for mercy, burying her face in her hooves. “I didn’t mean to!” She was the youngest changeling in the room, barely out of her adolescence and shared the head servant’s emerald mane, if not a lighter shade. The head servant stormed over and slapped her hard across the face if just to shut her up. “YOU STUPID MARE!” she shrieked, going green in the face. “Look at what you've done now!” “I’m sorry, mother, I--” She slapped her again, twice as hard and lifted her by a clump of her mane. “Can’t you do anything right, you clumsy idiot!?” “That’s enough.” All eyes turned to Chrysalis, who now looked calm and serene. She pointed at the groomer and motioned her forward, “Come here, my dear.” The head servant threw her daughter forward in revulsion, who landed belly-first on the black stone floor. She picked herself up and scrambled to her Queen’s side and got back on her knees, still blubbering for forgiveness like the pathetic grub she was. “I’m so, SO sorry, my Queen! Please don’t have me executed! I’ll do better, next time, I--” Chrysalis could not bear hearing this changeling mare’s nauseating grovelling apologies. She put her hoof over her mouth, and hushed her soothingly. “Shhhh, young one. I know you are.” The Queen chuckled a bit and patted her cheek. “Why would I ever have such a... young, beautiful head likes yours put on a pike?” She glanced over the young groomer’s hooves and said, “Give me your hooves.” Whimpering, she did as she was told and let her Queen caress her small, soft hooves. “You have really pretty hooves, my dear...” Chrysalis kept her smile, though her envious eyes betrayed her. The smile slowly turned into a deep, hateful frown, until... CRUNCH! With the flash of a movement, the Queen drove her fangs deep into the groomer’s hooves, shredding through the fur and flesh like tissue paper. The younger mare screamed in agony and collapsed to the floor on her back, holding her hooves as green blood gushed from the wounds like a fountain. Chrysalis licked the dripping blood from her fangs and dropped back against the backrest contently. “Take her away and have her stitched up,” she ordered uncaringly, to which the head servant obeyed, dragging her daughter out of the room like a bag of rubbish. “The rest of you, I don’t believe you’re finished.” Just as they were about to do so, she queried, “Oh, which one of you was doing my fangs?” “I was, my Queen,” replied one attendant, holding up her file. She licked the blood stained fangs once more and smirked, “Good job.”