His toys clattered and clanged together, having been beaten together in such ways many times over the years. The paint was peeling off here and there, revealing the dull grey metal underneath, but they were still just as good as ever in Quillyn's eyes. His voice had already started to deepen, and his cutie mark had just appeared a few weeks ago. The sun was shining, and the other children, unfortunately several years younger than him, were outside playing as well.
The layouts for his toys, which he called models these days to anyone that asked him what he did at home after school, had evolved over the years, becoming more elaborate and technical, but the players remained the same, good against bad, evil wilting in the light of the heroic good. That day was like any other, after his homework had been done. He was planning out a diversionary tactic with skirmishers of light cavalry against the stalwart defenders when she stepped up behind him.
"Whatcha doin'?" She said, looking over his shoulder.
A rush of hot, itchy embarrassment flooded over his body, and he jerked, knocking over most of the mismatched militia and trying to cover them in vain. "N-nothing! Really, I... I just..." he stammered, trailing off and looking back at Strawberry Slice. She'd gotten her cutie mark a week after he did, but she was in a different class than he was. He always had liked her, even if she did pick at him like the others did. She seemed different somehow.
The rest of the conversation had been strained and awkward on his part, though she had seemed genuinely interested. Everything ran through his head in a blur, the trivialities of the talk straining him to breaking. She was a pretty filly, one that he thought was quite out of his league, though he didn't exactly have much confidence in himself. Strawberry Slice was being nice, for once. They were talking about a show that they both watched, though admittedly, he didn't care much about it.
Then, he pushed himself forward. His lips met hers, awkwardly, quickly, timidly, but it was a kiss. His first upon another girl. She hadn't pulled away. In fact, she just giggled and let him kiss her. He did it a few more times before they simply sat together in silence, Quillyn basking in the warmth of success. Time passed quickly, much to his chagrin; she had to leave, and soon after he found that she had a pony she was already seeing. She had chosen to continue with him, leaving his heart torn asunder.
A year passed in a blink of an eye. Quillyn was at Broken Bridle's house, another filly. She was another of his crushes, as well. She had, perhaps, taken pity upon him and his balking desperation, but he hadn't realized it yet. Nearly burning hot to the touch, she was attractive and wild, a free sort of spirit that enjoyed the outdoors quite a bit. He liked being outside as well, but never really thought of himself as an outdoorspony before that. She had been too free for his good; the relationship, as it was, lasted only a month before she had left him for his best friend at the time.
Romantic interests came and went nearly as quickly as he could recover from them. Quillyn never really gave up. Despite being socially awkward, he was a terrible flirt when he was alone with a filly. He could woo them with his words, a die-hard romantic. It simply came naturally, despite how awkward he was otherwise. Yet, every relationship ended in heartbreak for him... it was something he had come to expect, but never something that he became used to.
Endlessly, these relationships flashed before his mind's eye, reliving every moment in excruciating detail. Thrashing in the bed, tossing his sheets askew, Quillyn writhed on the mattress as she watched his dreams, her horn glowing green while she plied her magic. With a desperate cry, the stallion sat stock upright, panting and glistening with sweat in the starlight. He could see her eyes staring at him from the edge of the bed, her form barely visible in the midst of night.
"You are a tortured soul," she whispered, moving to his side as he stared wildly, still catching his breath, "... you have experienced more than what you should have of heartbreak. Of disappointment. Tragic, really... the way you hold on to every bit of it," Quillyn started to reach for his glasses upon the nightstand, but her hoof cut him short, blocking his path. She leaned against the bed, her face drawing close enough so that he could feel her breath upon his cheek. It was curiously soft and cool against his skin, the sweat beaded upon his face chilling him with a shiver. Before he could think to react, her lips were pressed against his own, the familiar rush of passion tinged with more than a little sting of fear.
Then she changed. Strawberry Slice's face, perhaps matured a bit to his age, was suddenly before him, her eyes shining with that gleeful little expression she got when she was happy. She looked just as he remembered her. Her lips pulled away for a moment before she kissed him again, and Broken Bridle was suddenly there in her place, blonde mane brushed back behind her ears to fall in curtains alongside her neck. Another kiss, and another mare. Each kiss tasted sweeter, but he found the beating of his heart in his ears to be troubling, the sense of wrongness growing in his head.
Every kiss revealed another of his past loves. It was frighteningly fascinating, and he could barely react, eyes bolted open as he watched, his breath never quite catching up to him. She pressed closer to his chest, and he could feel the heat from her body radiating in waves against his own, the sweat beginning to rankle his skin agitatingly. Finally, one impassioned last kiss, and she was her normal form once more, yet no less distant, her fangs brushing with a teasing sort of edge against his lips. She tasted wonderfully, indescribable sensations that were not quite flavor or texture.
"I can be anypony you want me to be," she whispered still, her lips skirting against his with her words, "As long as you love me." Her green, slitted eyes closed, and she pressed a final kiss upon him, a pert, meaningful thing, before pulling away and turning. He could do nothing but watch her turn and move into the shadows, seeming to melt into them with ease. Those glowing emerald eyes glanced back to him silently, though he could swear he saw a slight smile just before they winked out of sight.
With a thump, Quillyn slumped back against the wall. Suddenly remembering to breathe again, he was panting more than he had been before, he held his quivering hooves in front of his face. Sweat dripped from the edge of his nose to land upon his stomach, though he barely noticed it. A knot had formed in his throat, making a swallow an impossible proposition. Of course, he immediately had to. Grabbing up the cup of water upon the nightstand, he tossed its contents into his mouth messily, slurping up the dribblings with a wild desperation, his hooves barely able to hold it against his lips.
"... oh, horseapples..."
-----
Quillyn slept no more that night, despite the early hour and his tiredness. The castle was quiet once more, but he could not shake the feeling that he was being watched. Paranoia kept him awake, though he wasn't sure why he was so bothered, or even surprised. These are changelings, he reminded himself, and she was the queen. Changing shape must be as natural for her as picking up a quill is for him. But those thoughts did not make it any easier to accept. It was one thing to have an ability such as this... it was another to delve into his own mind and memories to use it almost as a weapon.
She had seen inside of his head. She had used his thoughts, his memories, real ponies in real situations, to strike him cold and defenseless. There really was nothing that he could do now but go along with what she wanted... but what was that, exactly? To flabbergast him with her otherworldly powers? To tease him just because she could? It was maddening, moreso than the nights before when she had left him with practically no information at all. Whatever her plans were, he was sure that it was working very much to her favor, and that he would be left in the dark for the foreseeable future. His thoughts circled around on themselves in this manner, making slumber a nearly-graspable, but just out of reach prospect.
The sun broke over the horizon, light streaming through the slots of the window to strike the wall, dust motes floating lazily within the beams. Quillyn laid motionlessly on the bed, his eyes burning and gritted from sleep deprivation, watching the shafts of light slip from the wall to the floor languidly. The sun had risen high above the trees before anypony knocked upon his door. Three simple raps upon the thick wood, the sound echoing within the large chamber that served as his bedroom.
Korvina opened the door a moment later, grey nose and deep blue mane sweeping in. She coyly peers inside at the bed, an impish little grin revealing the pointed fangs of her kind, though she quickly put on a pouting face when she noticed Quillyn had not been asleep. He regarded her coolly, the way only a pony who hadn't slept at all through a night could. Whether she noticed or cared about the expression, however, was another story.
"Breakfast will be served in half an hour. The queen and her court have it separately from everypony else, so it'll be a more intimate affair," she said without greeting, shoring herself up after her perceived loss of surprise upon him, "Come on and wash up. You look terrible." Quillyn reached over to the nightstand and slipped on his glasses with a sigh, rolling out of the bed. The pain in his side was considerably less than yesterday, though the stitch remained when he twisted this way or that. Outwardly, there was simply a cleft in his pelt along his ribs, not particularly noticeable, but evident upon inspection.
"Thank you, Korvina," he murmured flatly, his tone less agreeable than his words, "Let's go on, then." The mare perked up and smiled earnestly at that. That struck him as odd for some reason, as if she enjoyed his agitation or something, but he didn't pursue it, far too tired to get into discourse beyond base needs. Tramping along behind her as she led the way to the bathing chamber, she went inside and did not leave after he entered as well, simply closing the door and moving to the bath. Afterwards, she trotted up to the steaming bath itself and slipped in with a breathy sigh, and started to lather herself up.
Quillyn's jaw worked up and down, his eyes blinking rapidly for quite a few moments before he could find words that suited him. Even then, his voice and mind failed him. "I... what... you're... what are you... this is... I'll just..." he sputtered, rapidly looking from her to the door, stumbling over both words and feet.
Korvina simply laughed and blew bubbles at him from the lather, "You silly pony. It's a bath. I needed one, you need one, it isn't as if we're on top of each other, ogling and grinding. Come on, you're wasting time." Blinking a couple times more while he processed all of this, he finally sighed, gave a shrug, and moved to the opposite end to get in.
His glasses immediately fogged up, though at that moment, he wasn't sure if it was a bad thing or not. He had to take them off to see the soaps, though, so he carefully slipped them over to the side, where they promptly clattered to the floor. "Horsehockey," he murmured, rubbing his eyes with his hooves, the cloying scent of the bath already beginning to irritate him. Squinting through the steam and the itching, Quillyn took up the shampoo and squirted a glob onto his head, scrubbing haphazardly.
She finished before he did, despite the much more voluminous mane and tail, and was already out drying off when he stepped out of the bath. His hooves slipped and clacked hard against the smooth stone pavers, the gangly stallion scrambling for footing before he finally found purchase. The pain in his side immediately flared up, leaving a burning tear along his ribs that left Quillyn sucking in breath through his teeth and Korvina giggling at him. He shot her a withering glare, the still-sodden mare covering her mouth with a hoof while her magic takes care of brushing through her mane, though he couldn't maintain the hard look for long.
Despite possessing sharp, austere features and being capable of glances that withered lesser ponies where they stood, Quillyn had a soft spot for the cute ones. Despite what she was, what he knew she was, and the fact that he was in pain, he imagined what he must have looked like, all flailing legs and eyes wide open while he skittered to stay upright. The glare shifted to a dry chuckle and a shake of the head as he moved over next to her to look into the mirror. He picked up a brush to try and tame his unruly mop, but found there was already one hovering over his head, running through his short-cropped mane. It was always easier one somepony else set about those sorts of things, and he didn't mind the assistance.
Korvina had already finished with herself, and was carefully styling his now, her tongue just barely sticking out between her fangs as she concentrated. With honestly no idea of what to do, Quillyn let her do what she wanted, the two of them wordlessly abiding each other. After a few minutes of hard concentration, she'd done what she'd wanted, which was more or less what he would have done anyway, even if it felt a bit awkward on his head and hips. A slight, sheepish smile traded for a big, boisterous flash of a grin, and he moved out into the hallway, steam following in wisps. Korvina stepped out a moment later, and they continued down the corridor towards the royal chambers.
Taking a branch off of the main corridor that Quillyn hadn't noticed the night before, he found himself in a drastically different portion of the castle. Statues and busts of ponies and changelings lined either side of the hallway, set back in ornate alcoves with plaques underneath them. He recognized few of them, though the ones he did were from antiquity, before even Celestia's reign, from the fractious times. The ceiling above and the flooring below were a brilliant blue marble, the stone bricks seemingly a brighter, more polished grey than the rest of the structure.
The changeling statues he could barely tell apart from each other, they looked so similar in shape at a glance, but he could not stop to study any of it at the moment. By his judging, they were already cutting it close to the time that they should have been there and seated, though without his watch, it was difficult to tell. Korvina herself seemed in no more of a hurry than normal, her pace easy but purposeful, her hooves having the same sort of off-kilter sound as the rest of the changelings. They rounded a corner and came up against an intricately carved and stained door, a scene of some sort of tree grove laid within the cherry wood. The eery buzzing of wings came from beyond, muffled by the barrier, though as the spymaster opened it, the buzzing seamlessly transitioned to verbal conversation.
"... really do not believe that the patrols will be able to find this place without our knowing it," A changeling spoke in a rather deep voice, slightly larger than the others and dressed in odd, thin-looking armor, grayish-purple in color, "Our wards will hold, just as they have for years."
Another, possibly the smallest, scoffed loudly and toyed with a bauble hanging from one of its spired horns along the shoulder, "Perhaps the wards will hold, but with Celestia's patrols thickening the skies at noon and midnight, they will find a chink in the armor somewhere. Sooner, rather than later, most like."
A third, sipping at what looked like a tea cup that hovered in front of its lips, spoke in a feminine drawl, the glow upon her eyes flitted to Quillyn and stayed there, "This one did."
Korvina ignored the conversation and moved to the table, taking up her seat after giving the queen a deferential bow. Queen Chrysalis had so far been silent, letting her advisers speak their piece, though as the one with a woman's voice spoke up, she held up her hoof. "He was a special case. The spymaster felt he was special in some way, and I concur with her decision. He is more valuable than you know," she continued, studying him as he stood there fidgeting, "He is both mundane and quite possibly our salvation. The key to ultimate victory. Or perhaps a better term would be a locked box, needing a key."
At that, the three turned to regard him, the armored one in a skeptical light, the other two with an air of wonder, or at least interest. It was the one whom he took to be female that lifted herself from her pillow first. She gave a slight bow with a flourish, "I greet you then, in the judgement of our queen. I am Dinesti, the court battlemage."
Not to be upstaged, the second, more frail-looking changeling stood and gave a bow, jewelry tinkling. "I am Cantemir," he said from his prostrated position, eyes closed and head bowed in supplication, "Humble viceroy of Her Majesty's holdings, at your service."
The armored one snorted derisively and clambered to his feet after a moment of silence, giving a terse nod to Quillyn. "I am Tsepesh. Commander of the queen's forces by and large."
Quillyn found himself the subject of much scrutiny very quickly. Raising his brows for a moment, he blinked behind his glasses, "Ah... I am Quillyn Pen. Writer." The three continued to stare at him while Korvina made it a point to focus entirely on her food, chewing and swallowing the eggs with a rather dull expression. Queen Chrysalis, however, seemed quite pleased with how things had gone, a smile upon her lips. A chill ran down his spine at the expression, and he uttered a quick 'at your service' to them. At that, they seemed satisfied, and seated themselves once again, resuming the conversation as before.
"... in any case, apart from the spymaster's decisions and allowances, we must invest in some sort of active defenses beyond the cloaking," Dinesti picked up, looking from Quillyn to the others arrayed at the table, curiously excepting the queen, "The bubble is easily maintained, but limited in its effectiveness to repel outsiders. Honestly, if they simply flew or walked into it, they'd go right through, as we all know, and our position completely visible."
Tsepesh grunted and shook his head with a scowl, "That is no defense in my opinion. So, we need to increase our military standings and active patrols."
"Ah, but you see," Cantemir cut in with an easy smile, "With active patrols come also the risk of discovery, and what good would any defenses do if we were crushed by an assault from Canterlot when a stray patrol leads them right back to us?"
The commander bristled and thrust his hoof onto the floor with a resounding clack, "Are you implying that my soldiers cannot evade detection from those simpletons?! We are masters of camouflage and stealth!"
The viceroy holds up his hooves plaintively, still smiling, "No, my general, not at all. However, there are times that despite the best of skills, the enemy may find a hole in the defense, or just stumble along something in dumb luck."
The parallels with Quillyn's writings and musings were uncanny, though he had always imagined royal politics and strategy to be something like this most everywhere. So far, he was not disappointed. He sat at the table opposite of the queen, between the military commander and the battlemage, whom were still engrossed in their conversation. Cantemir, however, stole a few looks and smiles that left Quillyn with a greasy feeling, the writer already knowing his type of personality. The ones that always seemed to wriggle away with everything always had that same sort of slimy smile, and Cantemir was no different from all the others he'd known.
However, none of them had treated him badly, even if Tsepesh was a bit brusque, and while they were deeply involved with their conversation, they were not being particularly rude, either. Quillyn sat listening, having his poached egg and toast rye, finishing it off with a glass of apple juice, quiet changeling servants swiping out the plates and such without being acknowledged by those at the table. They seemed smaller than the others, and without most of the horns and hardness of the more influential in the room, eyes averted. Every society had their lower caste, and he imagined that changelings were no different, despite what the queen had mentioned about equality.
Sopping some of the yolk up with a bit of toast, Quillyn listened quietly to the conversation, though his thoughts had wandered. The words stopped meaning much to him as he thought about the night before, those events still very fresh in his mind. Slowly, he became aware of the queen's eyes upon him, their bold green gaze and the unsettling slits of pupils boring into him. She never seemed to blink, not when she was focusing, and it was obvious to no one but him that she was doing just that.
Queen Chrysalis appeared in his thoughts, wreathed in an emerald aura, seeming to overlay the image his eyes were receiving. He swallowed nervously at the knot that was starting to form in his throat. He wasn't even safe in his thoughts, he remembered now. "You worry far too much," she spoke, though the words echoed only in his mind, her visage else-wise immobile, "The situation here in my domain is never quite what it seems."
"Those servants you observed are puppets, essentially," she continued, motioning towards the smaller changelings in the corners, standing at attention, "Simply empty bodies to be brought to my beck and call, with no will of their own. No... we are all equals here... or at least, we all started from the same level. All are my children, of one type or another. Just as you may see yourself as one day... but that is not today."
In reality, the queen looked away from him to speak with one of the others, though it all suddenly seemed pointless, muted, and garbled somehow. The words no longer made sense, as if he had his ear against a wall, as well as being submerged. The image of her within his mind's eye remained focused upon him, lounging easily upon an unseen pile of pillows, or perhaps a couch. "Today, I believe I'll have you follow my lovely viceroy, Cantemir, since you seem to have taken to his personality," she said blithely, smiling so that the four sharpened fangs bared in their full glory, "I feel that you would do well to see what it is that he does in detail."
Quillyn felt ill. He could see Korvina staring at him, though it didn't quite register as something that he should react to. His stomach swam even as the image of the queen faded from his mind, the cloud engulfing his consciousness slowly fading away with a slick, slimy sensation. Dully, he looked over to the others, who seemed to still not to notice anything out of the ordinary, before he looked back to Korvina, who'd raised an eyebrow slowly in question.
"Well, if we are done here, I imagine that my new protege would perhaps like to take a stroll about the grounds?" Cantemir affected with a large, sharp-toothed grin and a short tittering giggle, standing with a bending bow to the queen, and lesser deference to the others accordingly. Quillyn's mouth felt dry, even as he stood to follow the queen's orders. Korvina continued to watch him, unblinking but curious, though he did meet he gaze. He was not sure of what to do any more, and his stomach continued to twirl in his gut until he numbly followed the viceroy out into the hallway.
Eventually, he became aware that Cantemir had been talking to him the entire time. "... unprecedented, you know? We have not had a true outside guest in quite some time," he spoke as they passed through the hall of stone visages, "Not since the last queen's mother. I believe that was the reason why... well, let us carry on with the tour! I understand you will be staying here for some time to recover from your wounds and to experience our society in it's fullest. We are not the monsters and savages that your princess would have you believe, you know! We are quite refined, and..."
Quillyn lost his focus again, though his stomach had been feeling much better progressively since they had left the meeting room. The grey halls had given way to an expanse of something that he'd not quite thought possible in the manse... a garden. A huge garden, with every sort of tree, plant, fruit, and vegetable that he could think of, and many more that he could not, even with his tours with the militia to neighboring areas and through the Everfree. "Quillyn Pen, are you paying attention?" the viceroy prompts pointedly, eyebrow quirked over a bright cornea-less blue eye, "Though I cannot say that I blame you... the first time I beheld the garden, it took my breath away as well. Simply astonishing, isn't it?"
"Seeds, saplings, and cuts from every forest, borough, cave, plain, and land that we have seen have all been carefully brought back to be cultivated here," Cantemir explained, motioning with a holed hoof, "Through care and dedication, our cultivars have nursed every specimen to perfect, blooming health!" The viceroy certainly seemed proud of the area, though for good reason. "Also, through directed magic that is in no way easy even for our specialized magicians, the weather is controlled in every way to be perfect for each specimen! Amazing, isn't it?"
Quillyn looked to Cantemir and gave a dumb nod, adjusting his glasses after failing to move them further up onto his nose with a couple of wrinklings. "It is certainly more extensive than I would have imagined," he replied, glancing back to the gardens, and over his shoulder. The way back seemed to meld into the castle, a transition artfully crafted of stone to move to earth and back without thought. The sky above was clear blue, with a few specs of clouds, though he did note that there were no clouds within the protective bubble surrounding the demesne, and flying patrols held tight formation as they made their rounds. The paths were irregular and numerous, perfectly aligned.
He began to wonder if they were also 'empty bodies', as the queen had called the servant classes, though he doubted it. There were far too many... and those of soldiering types seemed as varied in personality as any other collection of ponies. He'd not had much experience with them yet - dimly, he became aware that he was nudged by Cantemir's hoof. "You have a tendency to lose focus, do you not...?" the viceroy gave a smile, not unlike a school teacher to a recalcitrant student, "No matter. We have plenty of time, I do not have a meeting until noon hence, so we may go about this in a relaxed manner."
Blush rose to his cheeks. It was definitely not the first time he'd heard it, and he knew it to be true. He lapsed into deep thought as often as not at random, and it used to get him called out upon when he should have been paying attention to the matter at hoof. "S-sorry," he admitted, sheepishly returning the smile, "Please continue, viceroy. I... simply have a lot on my mind as of late."
Cantemir gave an uproarious laugh, clopping his hoof on the stone path that ran down the middle of the gardens a multitude of times, "No worries, my boy! No worries at all. You are most definitely in a position that few others can claim to be in, that is to be certain. It can only be expected that you take things with gravity and grit!"
The viceroy jingled and glittered as he animatedly gestured, his visage set afire by the sparkling of his jewelry. "The gardens are but one of our many triumphs," he explained with a proud smile, "We have our arcanery, of course, though I imagine the court battlemage would much prefer to show you herself rather than I. There is our library, as well as our astronomer's tower. I particularly enjoy going there, though we haven't had a proper astronomer in some time... it is a shame." This had Quillyn turning to try and catch a glimpse of the tower, though nothing could be seen beyond the large entryway back to the castle. "Ah, it is on the other side, away from any obstructions that might get in the way of the astronomer's glass," Cantemir says, walking back to Quillyn's side, "We will go there later in the day, as it will be one of the last stops."
Quillyn and the viceroy continued down the pathway of the garden, Cantemir stopping now and then to ooh and aah over one specimen of plant or another. They really were rather splendid, but Quillyn’s interests did not lie in horticulture. His eyes continued to wander towards the ever-encroaching exit, wanting more and more to step through the expertly constructed architecture, and finally, after the last row of whats-its was passed, they stepped into a considerably darker section of the castle.
Such sights as the armory and guard barracks were simple enough, and their pony analogues were similar enough that Quillyn found himself recognizing most every bit of equipment and furniture. The dining room was explored with a little more detail, but he found himself zoning out during all of that as well, mind wandering back over the past few days while Cantemir spoke on this and that sculpture or statue. Overall, he felt that he had, perhaps, misjudged the viceroy's personality. He seemed... pleasant, if a little sycophantic in his ways.
The day continued on with various minutiae being discussed, or rather, being lectured to Quillyn by the excitable viceroy. However, he came to from his slight boredom when the outer grounds were revealed. A perfectly-manicured courtyard and lawn that stretched for some time, giving the guard towers above plenty of view, the outer grounds held young changelings and their keepers playing and frolicking. A pang of deja vu struck the writer, and he felt as if he could write this scene down sheerly from his mind's eye. It was so similar to the images of his own youth that it felt almost wrong that he was not joining them in play.
Cantemir looks over to Quillyn and gives a smile, "Yes... our young play just as yours do. We prefer the sun when we can have it, though the darkness also provides a cool respite from the day's warmth." Oddly, Quillyn found himself chuckling slightly. He wondered if Princess Luna knew that some of the creatures that appreciated her night were such as these.
"I imagined it to be similar," Quillyn finally replies to the viceroy, "But I had not quite prepared myself for it to be so... spot-on." He found himself at a lack for words, but the changeling gave a nod, understanding the sentiment.
"Yes... I have never been among your kind myself, though I have read quite a lot about you," he returns, and then blinks, "Not you in particular, of course, though I'm sure that your own works are prolific." Not quite, though Quillyn appreciated the attempt at a compliment in any case. He looks back to the scene before him, little changelings buzzing through the air and tussling with each other, while another group plays quietly near a little pile of sand.
That would have been him, one of the little ones near the sand pile. Making little castles, playing with toys there rather than rough-housing. Sometimes he enjoyed a good tussle, but mostly, Quillyn kept to himself and his make-believe worlds. "I'm not too well known," he says after a few moments, tearing his gaze away from the little ones there in the sand and back to Cantemir, "But eventually, I will be. Especially after this piece is published." That's a thought. This piece would be the first of its kind. A view of the enemy from behind their lines, with their guard down. It would be phenomenal on many fronts, really.
"Oh yes! I imagine so," the viceroy replied with a little buzz of his wings and a prance, "It will be most excellent for all of us, I do hope!" For a creature that 'loved little', Cantemir seemed like he was full of verve and vim. Quillyn imagined that he was not exactly one of the changelings that was most like the others. He figured most were mischievous things, like the spymaster. His thoughts wound back towards Korvina, though not for long before something impacted his face.
A sensation of stars and dizzyness overtook him, but not enough to send him reeling. A ball bounced off of his forehoof after it had smacked into his face, and one of the small changelings zoomed over to grab it... and then skidded to a stop. Large blue iris-less eyes gazed up at him, a little fanged maw hanging open as the child stood in slack-jawed awe of the pony that stood there, smarting his cheek. Quillyn adjusts his glasses and gives a little smile to the child.
Then he felt it. The coolness left behind in his chest that accompanied the... the suction of his essences from his very being. His eyes go wide as he watches a thin stream of pink slip from his front and start sliding towards the little changelings open mouth, the tiny thing concentrating hard. Then a holed hoof thrusts out to strike the baby changeling away, an insect-like squeal accompanying the impact. The warmth suddenly snaps back into his chest, and Quillyn remembers to breathe again.
Cantemir scowls at the child, who seemed otherwise unharmed despite the dirt on its carapace. Slinking away before sliding into the air with a buzz of its wings, the child seemed more like a scolded animal than a pony. "The young ones know little of self-control," Cantemir says lowly, the older keepers slowly hovering towards the children and gathering them up, "It must be near their feeding time. I am truly sorry."
Quillyn shakes his head, blinking rapidly. That certainly pulled him from his wistful reverie, and compounded the fact that these were not ponies. These were, and always will be, individuals that feed upon the essences of ponykind. While they may be kind to him now, he is really no more than potential prey for any one of them. Only the word of their queen keeps them at bay from sucking him dry. He shivers at the thought, then shores himself up to go back inside of the castle. He'd seen enough of the grounds for that day, he figured.
---
Before he knew it, most of the day had been whittled away by the tour around the massive grounds. The fact that it had taken that amount of time spoke volumes of the immensity. Quillyn found himself wondering how they managed to keep it all hidden behind whatever 'bubble' they had been talking about earlier. He'd managed to find it, but as far as he knew, only he had. This large of a... a colony, or whatever one might call a gathering like this, had to have a massive 'food' resource somewhere.
The only place that Quillyn could think of in that regard was Ponyville. That location has always had a massive amount of... of love and care for each other, despite the travails over the years. Its only grown in magnitude since he's been alive. With the changeling castle so close by, he felt sure that they had all been fed upon at some point or another. Cantemir had noticed him worrying his lip, though couldn't quite wheedle out what was bothering the pony.
That night was another dinner in the dining hall, his seat still at the place of honor next to the queen. The changelings still watched him from time to time, but few seemed to be as interested now. No visions in his head that night, either. His salad had a bit more color in it as well, the writer did notice. That was considerate of them.
Finding himself back in his bedchambers, Quillyn moved to the window that looked out upon the grounds and the forest beyond. The night was filled with twinkling stars amidst Princess Luna's blue night, her moon high in the sky. Occasionally, a star or two would be blotted out in an even motion across the sky, glowing blue eyes gazing down at the forest below as the changeling guards hover slowly around the perimeter.
Despite what Chrysalis may have said, Quillyn was still a prisoner here. He could not leave of his own free will. But he could make the best of it. This piece would be magnificent... or at least he hoped it would be. His glasses drifted down his nose, and he pushed them back up with his hoof, taking in a deep breath and letting it out through his nose.
"Time to live up to my name... and my special talent."