The room of a killer never looked so inviting.
Celestia’s room was a warm and cozy abode, stuffed with treasures for someone of her status: a tyrant. Stolen memories and victimized masterpieces lined the shelves , tucked in amidst the numerous tomes and books. If any historian were presented with even one of those pieces, they’d faint. If an art collector was given a painting, they would build it its own gallery. While ponies struggled to make ends meet, here she was, sitting on all this wealth like a gluttonous dragon.
Many of the pieces had a fine layer of dust over them. Obviously, they had remained untouched for quite some time. Sure, there were indications that they were moved now and again, but nothing more. For all I knew, and it was probably more likely, the maids moved them, not the queen bitch herself.
One picture stood out amongst all the rest, set upon the lavish fireplace. It had been placed at the forefront of the mantle, edging out the neighbouring pictures.
I examined it, floating the thing in front of my face. The picture was of six mares and a baby dragon, squeezed around the princess at a table, a box of unfinished donuts left strewn on the counter. Although they were battered, their attire hardly fitting their appearance, wide grins adorned their mouths, a few dimples standing out here and there. If only Celestia were that sincere.
Each picture shunted out of place by the first depicted a similar scenario. Ponies would crowd together for a picture with her, laying their faith with her, hoping she’d remember them. I bet that, a year after the final mare in this picture died, the picture would fall back on a shelf, collecting dust until the apocalypse. Hopefully, someone would have overthrown this backwards and corrupt government before the world reached that point, although I had my doubts.
I had wasted enough time pandering to my curiosity, letting myself peek into the life of royalty, even if the title was poorly wrought. My parents’ death demanded I show Canterlot the extent of their crimes, the hell of the life they forced upon me. I didn’t care what it took or what it meant, it had to be done. Taking one last glimpse at the world around me, I took a deep breath and focused. The fire wouldn’t come from a match or flint. Instead, it would come from myself.
Fire wouldn’t burn marble. If it did, I’d eat my mane. No, the only thing that could burn marble was magic: the fires of change. Change was not restricted to the individual; it could be forced upon others, although at a cost. To change something else, you had to destroy its identity, which acted as an anchor. When we shapeshifted, we molded our bodies into new shapes, changing any aspect of our appearance, but crucially, our body remembered its original identity. In every way, thankfully, absolute conviction was required to perform change upon others.
Just as we thrived off emotions, our magic was bound to it. Our own emotions could mean the difference between success and failure when casting a spell. The most difficult spells required emotions that coincided exactly with the result you intended. Any doubt and it was sure to fail. With what happened to me, changing the mortar between bricks to sand would be a cakewalk.
What would happen to me?
Honestly, I had never given it thought. If my death was what it took, I’d be prepared to accept that as the cost. I already knew the spell would leave me clinging to life, drained of energy and perhaps even killing me outright, so what was there to worry about? The last of my energy formed into a single point, raising in time with my last breath.
Breath out and release...
The spell fizzled out before it could even take hold.
No, masters no! I had no doubts, my resolve solid and firm. It was unquestionable that this place would crumble and burn as it deserved. Yet, even through the mental shouts and arguments at the forefront of my mind, I knew it wasn’t totally true. Everything I had seen, everyone I had met so far offered me insight and hope for a future. Even though Marmalade, Boulder and Flare had pushed me away, Pastel had shown me nothing but kindness. Yes, she probably would have reacted just the same way, but there was no way to be sure. And with that line of thinking came the doubt. Furthermore, what would happen to those whose lives hadn’t been touched by the changelings, for better or worse? Those who had their own dreams to strive for?
Was this really the best way? And if not, what could I do?
It wasn’t a plan that drove me to action. Rather, it was the lack of one. Panicking, I threw spell after spell at her bed, magically scarring the covers in an attempt to get the result I thought I desired. Each burst of flame faded faster than the previous as my indecision grew. Finally, with a roar, I rose up on my rear hooves, and smashed downwards hard, both forelegs hammers, channeling the spell into the ground. With a reverberating explosion, the windows shattered.
In all aspects, that had been a terrible idea. The world reverberated around me, echoing and skewing my vision into a tilting spin. I must have fallen over, unconscious and prone for a few minutes, because when I came to, the crashing of metal shoes upon the stone stairs could clearly be heard. Glancing down only further horrified me; my disguise had been lost, and with it, the last of my energy. There wasn’t time to worry about that now, as the door crashed open a moment later, almost embedding itself into the adjacent wall.
The guards hesitated for a second in shock. “Changeling! You are under arrest for-”
The final words of the command hadn’t even formed before I dove out the window. Struggling to level off, my wings flapped furiously, punctuating my panicked gasps with exertion. Stars filled my vision as something cannoned into me, sending the world spinning into a freefall. I butted and kicked desperately, but I couldn’t get free. Pain was accompanied by the shattering of glass, like a glowing iron laid across my back. My cry of agony was silenced when we slammed into the ground a moment later. Having broken my fall, the pegasus lay dazed in a mess of armour and feathers beneath me.
Desperately kicking free of his grip, I tore down the table, knocking expensive dishes and drinks onto the suits and dresses of the pampered elite. If it was not for the fact that I was running for my life, I would have taken the chance to relish the mess. Oh, boo hoo, got your fancy attire filthy? Maybe it would do you some good to experience some discomfort, for once.
Shouts and blasts of magic followed me wherever I went, as ponies sought to trap and capture me. With what I had done, even though it had been only property I destroyed, I doubt they would settle on merely banishing me. Everywhere I turned, though, guards were closing in. My breath grew ragged as I sought for some way out, somewhere to escape.
I skidded to halt as I rounded a corner, scrabbling my hooves against the polished marble floor, trying to find purchase. Three unicorn guards approached rapidly from the opposite direction, spells readying upon their horns. I had scant moments to get out of the way, but yet I barely had started to move. The instant I heard the spells fire, I leapt, praying to the masters that it would be enough.
It wasn’t.
The first one scorched past, but the second and third slammed into me. Heat blossomed across my side as they threw me into the wall, my vision cracking against the marble in time with my head. I struggled to maintain consciousness, almost standing up, before the pain overwhelmed me.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
I awoke with my muzzle full of water, the freezing liquid dripping off my body onto the stone floor beneath in slow, steady trails. Coughing, I raised my hooves to my head, only to be halted by the stiff chains and steel bands entrapping my limbs.
“Wake up, changeling,” a voice said, bitterly. A guard stood behind a set of bars, or rather, in front of them, with a bucket in his magical grasp. “Your trial starts in three hours.”
I looked at him for a moment, the words running through my mind. “You mean the kangaroo court?” I asked finally.
The guard did a half-step back, obviously believing that I couldn’t speak. “You will be given a fair trial, something you don’t even deserve, considering your crimes during the Royal Wedding.”
“That’s funny,” I answered, nonchalantly, “because I was helping my father repair a broken clock when it happened. I-”
“Quit your lies, changeling,” he growled.
“Fine, then. If you don’t want the truth, I won’t bother you with it,” I spat back. “While I’m here, could I have something to eat?”
The guard’s eyes narrowed in malice. “You think we’d just give you a pony to drain? What makes you think we’d be that cruel?”
Seriously? No... seriously? Is that what they truly thought of us? Laughter filled the dreary cell.
“Oh masters...” I wheezed breathlessly. “You seriously think that’s true? I want food. Bread, salad, water. That sort of thing. What made you think I wanted a pony?”
Without a reply, the guard scowled darkly and stomped away, leaving me alone in the dim light of the flickering torch.
WIth him gone, my hilarity faded to more sombre thoughts. By all means and accounts, I had failed. I had succeeded in every step of the plan, save the last, the most important. If my magic had told the truth, then I had been doomed from the start. My parents would never rest peacefully now, and I didn’t think I’d be able to live with that fact. There was no way out for me now. If they had their way, they would forgo banishment for execution.
Something deep inside me defied the logic, though, refusing to believe I had squandered my life in a gamble. Yet, as the segments of my subconscious battled with one another, I slowly came to realize that it was right. Perhaps I may have failed. Perhaps I was doomed to live the remainder of my life in the wastelands. But somewhere, deep in my mind, flared a spark of doubt, growing in conviction and threatening to overwhelm me. All that needed to be done was to make them understand. The enormity of their crimes would force guilt down their throats and scar their souls. That would be all the sorrow they would ever need to make sure they never forgave themselves.
The clack of the jailer’s shoes returned, building in volume with each tap. A hunk of bread with jagged edges, having been torn roughly, was shoved through the gaps, and tumbled to the floor. I snatched it up, before the ants crawling through this place could catch its scent, and eagerly bit into the warm chunk. I took another bite before looking over to see the guard still standing there, watching me expectantly. Meeting his gaze all the while, I took another bite, slowly working the piece before swallowing. With a snort, the guard stomped off, leaving me alone with my frugal meal.
I had time.
Time to think.
Time to plan.
~~~~~~~~~
With a grim finality, the door creaked open, and four guards stepped inside. Two bore spears, whilst the other two held a set of hoof-cuffs, meant to limit my range of motion to a small shuffle. Dutifully, I complied, defiant against their preconceived notions. There was hint - a whiff - of confusion. They had expected, even hoped for, a struggle. I’d bet they wished for nothing more than to beat me senseless with the butts of their weapons. My suspicions were validated when no magic inhibitor was slipped over my horn before they tugged me out into the hallway. Indeed, they had no idea as to the range of my magic or my plan.
I was about to commit a sin, something I had promised Mirra I would never do. I was about to steal emotion.
Once again, this was a difficult thing to explain. The concepts are missing from the Equestrian language - not simply missing the vocabulary, but utterly foreign to the ideas. Let me explain this as simply as I can.
Emotion was like a pie. It could be shared with others freely, saving a few pieces for the host. However, when it is stolen, you don’t want others to receive less, so you take the loss yourself. You’ll go hungry, but you’ll be content that others remained fed. Your heart is the most generous thing in the world, and even when you are on death’s bed, it’ll give every piece away and starve.
In the void of emotional sustenance, the darker, more primal varieties take hold. Grief, anger, lust, gluttony, paranoia... exposed long enough to the concentrated grievances, a husk is what you will become, nothing more than a plaything of the most dominant emotion remaining. One controlled by grief would need to remain on suicide watch every waking second of their life. One with rage would seek to kill and maim anyone who crossed their path.
In order to steal emotion, there has to be some for you to call upon, and even then it will be very gradual. In the case of the guard behind me, it was camaraderie. All I intended to do was draw off enough to expose his anger slightly, and obtain the energy for two illusions and one change. I cast a glance over my shoulder every now and again, and noting the time before the originally poorly-hidden anger blossomed in full. Purposely missing a step, I stumbled, falling down, cushioning the rough tumble with a shoulder.
“Get up!” snarled the guard.
Pain erupted as the flat of the spearhead struck my torn wings. Crying out, I curled into a ball, trying to find shelter. Again, the pain spiked as he struck once more, holding nothing back save the blade.
“What the hell!” shouted the other guard with a spear. Hazarding a glance, I saw he had placed himself between me and my abuser, wings half unfurled.
“Why are you protecting that thing, Ocean? Think about what it’s done!”
“It’s not our job to judge them. We are just supposed to bring him to the throne room.”
The other stallion chuckled. “You were always so damned persistent, following orders to the letter. Still looking for that promotion, now are we?”
Judging by the flare of disgust in the guard ‘Ocean’, I’d wager there was plenty of bad blood between the two. Now was as good a time as any. With the guards’ attention focused on the argument, I summoned forth the spell, preparing the first illusion right behind it. The fires of change quickly wound over the manacles connecting my legs, turning them to chalk. Screwing shut my eyes, I launched the second illusion just as they noticed.
Even through my lenses and eyelids, I could make out the blinding flash of flight. The effect would last for mere moments, so I tore down the hall, blinking away spots all the while. Their shouts followed me, a moment too slow, as they gave chase. Ducking out of sight, I summoned forth the second illusion: a near exact replica of myself. I sent it scampering down the opposite direction, while I hugged the shadows of the pillar as the guards galloped past.
Letting out the breath I had been holding, I peeked out, making sure no ponies lingered. Sighing in relief, my form shifted back to the grey unicorn, or it attempted to. My breath froze in my throat as I saw my work. My hooves weren’t the dark grey of the disguise; they were still a solid black. Thankfully, the holes throughout my legs were filled in, but, glancing up at a few strands of my mane, nothing else had changed. His anger hadn’t even been buried, merely covered. That covering was not even the miniscule amount of energy I needed. A few moments later, my body lost grip on the identity, utterly drained of energy.
So now, I was back to square one: stuck in the castle with guards on high alert. And worse still, I had even less to work with.